


Clint Barton: Rogue Avenger

by ChibiDawn23



Series: Mission: Avengers [4]
Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28701921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiDawn23/pseuds/ChibiDawn23
Summary: Clint "Hawkeye" Barton wasn't around during "The Winter Soldier" stuff in DC. Why? Because he was too busy doing his brother Will's job instead of his own. Although, maybe being out of the country was a good thing, seeing as how HYDRA was taking over...Takes place during "Captain America: Winter Soldier: and "Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation."
Series: Mission: Avengers [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2103894
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Minsk, Belarus & Washington, D.C.**

"Benji? Benji, do you copy?" William Brandt pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He glanced up at the bank of computer monitors in front of him, a satellite picture of an old WWII-era Soviet airstrip in Minsk, Belarus, staring back at him. "Benji…" He _hated_ being stateside while the rest of the team was in the field. _Although honestly, after the past two years, it's kind of a nice break. Nothing is exploding, I'm not fighting aliens, giant suits of metal aren't trying to kill me…_

" _Shit_."

Over the secure line, he heard Benji swear. Will blinked and returned his focus to the satellite feeds. _Well._ _That can't be a good sign…_ Benji normally was a pretty placid guy. "Where's Ethan?" he asked Benji. He hadn't heard from their fearless leader in awhile.

That didn't worry him near as much as what was on the A400 that was about to take off. Nerve gas, on its' way to terrorists. Ethan often went incommunicado on missions when he was focused on something; and Will was learning to just go with it.

" _I don't know; we're on radio silence_ ," Benji confirmed Will's suspicions.

Will rolled his eyes. _How completely unhelpful._ "That plane _cannot_ take off with the package on it. Do you understand?"

" _We're working on it_ ," another voice cut into the feed, and if Will had been holding a phone, he'd have dropped it.

" _Luther_?" he demanded. "What the hell are _you_ doing there?" Luther Stickell was an old friend and IMF teammate of Ethan's. Will had only met him once, in Seattle, after the Ghost Protocol incident. The mountain of a man scared the hell out of him. But he was supposed to be… "I thought you were on assignment in Malaysia?"

" _I_ am _in Malaysia_ ," Luther's baritone informed him. " _I've been here for two days. But Benji needed my help_." He sounded out of breath. Will did _not_ want to know why.

" _I didn't need help_ ," Benji objected, sounding mildly affronted. " _I just needed…assistance. It's a different thing._ "

Will heard Luther snort. _This is not even remotely funny_ , he thought as he ran a hand over his face. "The package is still on the plane," Will reminded them, pacing the room.

" _We_ understand _the package is on the plane_ ," Benji replied placatingly, like he was talking to a two year old. " _We're trying to cripple it remotely_."

Will paused in his pacing. "You can do that?" he asked.

" _We can if the pilot's got the satellite uplink on_ ," Luther told him.

"And how do we access the uplink?" Will felt like he didn't want to know the answer.

It was a few seconds before Luther answered him. " _It involves hacking a Russian satellite,_ " Luther said finally.

Will threw his hands in the air. _Oh of course it does._ "I can't authorize that!" Will protested.

Luther's voice was nonchalant. " _Which is why I didn't ask permission_ ," he said. Will heard something metal being pulled apart on Luther's end of the conversation.

"We are under investigation for misconduct!" Will reminded the two of them. He felt like throwing something. _This was supposed to be an easy mission_ , he thought to himself. _But of course, it had to go to hell in a handbasket. Like everything else lately._

It seemed like the world had just gotten back to normal after the Battle of New York. Or as normal as the world could get now…Two years ago, an alien race called the Chitauri had come pouring through a hole in the sky, led by a god of not-so-mythical proportions. Will's brother Clint had been at the heart of it, literally.

His _twin_ brother, Clint Brandt, more commonly known as Clint Barton, code name Hawkeye. One of the six superheroes known as The Avengers.

The problem was, the IMF team headed by the legendary Ethan Hunt was having its' fair share of problems in getting missions accomplished lately, even with your average garden-variety terrorists, and this current screw-up was just another in a string of missions not going according to plan. Will wondered if the string of screw-ups had something partly to do with the makeup of the team being changed with the departure of Jane Carter.

Not that Will was ever going to suggest that…seeing as how it was his fault.

" _The package is onboard. What do you want me to do_?" Luther shot back, interrupting Will's train of thought and bringing him back to the IMF control room, where there was now a radiating blur of yellows and oranges on the thermal imaging…"Shit," Will uttered his own curse, realizing what he was seeing. "I'm reading a heat bloom, Benji! The engines are starting!"

" _Yeah, I'm aware of that_ ," Benji yelled at him. " _But I can't do anything 'til I'm connected to the satellite._ " He sounded annoyed, but it was probably directed more at Luther than Will for the time being.

Or at least, Will hoped.

" _Benji, you're connected_!" Luther barked over the comm, and Will heard furious typing on Benji's end.

"The package is _still_ on the plane!" Will reminded them unnecessarily, earning him a " _Shut up_!" from both Benji _and_ Luther.

" _Shut down the fuel pump_ ," Luther told Benji.

" _Uh…mechanicals are locked out_ ," Benji replied. The keystrokes came faster.

"Electrical?" Will offered.

" _Oh, that might work_ ," Benji perked up. Then, "….. _No, can't get in_."

"Hydraulics," Will instructed.

" _Encrypted_!" Benji shot back, and this time, the annoyance in his voice _was_ directed at Will.

Will closed his eyes and leaned over the table. "Benji-"

" _Yeah yeah, the package is still on the plane_!" Benji groused. " _Do you want to fly here and do my job_?"

Before Will could shoot back a sarcastic reply, another voice came over the comms, this one sounding a lot calmer than the men already on it. " _Benji, can you open the door_?"

Will's jaw dropped. "Ethan?" he yelled, furious that their team leader was _just now_ checking in. "Where the _hell_ are you?"

" _By the plane_!" Ethan Hunt yelled back over the drone of the propellers. " _Benji, can you open the door_?" he asked their tech again. He sounded like he was running. From where or to where, Will had no idea. He'd stopped trying to keep track of Ethan. It was too much work.

" _Uh…maybe_?" Benji floundered.

" _Then open it when I tell you_!" Ethan ordered.

_What in the hell is he…._ Will frowned. _No. I don't want to know._

Ethan's voice came over the comms again. " _I'm on the plane, open the door!_ " Will could barely hear him. He stared at the satellite feeds, trying to see where Ethan was, but didn't see their fearless leader anywhere in the picture.

"How'd you get in plane?" Will yelled over the comm.

" _Not in. On_."

Will turned to one of the techs in the room. "Zoom in!" he ordered her, and the young woman's hands flew across the keyboard, bringing up a single screen shot of the A400 starting to roll down the runway. _They can't take off…they can't take off-_ Will's jaw dropped. The enhanced zoom was showing the right side of the plane. Specifically, the parachutist door, to which hung a solitary figure with longish brown hair…"Shit!" Will swore, this time aloud. " _Ethan_?!"

Ethan's voice came over the comm, insistent. " _Open the door! Benji_!"

" _Yeah, yeah okay…."_ Benji was stumbling over his syllables now, obviously in hurry-up mode. Will could hear the keystrokes coming fast and furious.

Will grabbed his hair in both hands. "Benji!" he yelled at their tech in the field. "Open that door _right now_!" The A400 was a few hundred feet in the air and climbing fast. He could see Ethan's fingers dug into the grooves in the door, saw his feet starting to lose purchase on the wing. _Oh Jesus…._

" _Come on!"_ he heard Luther urging, half a world away. " _Come_ on!"

" _I'm trying_!" Benji yelled at the both of them. There were several moments of tense silence. Then, " _Yes! Got it_!" Benji yelled triumphantly.

Will watched the screen. The tech in the room fiddled with the zoom, getting as close as the satellite could while trying to keep up with the accelerating and climbing plane. Ethan was still clinging to the side of the plane. Down in the corner of the feed, Will could see the cargo ramp slowly lowering. "Benji! That's the wrong door!" he yelled. "That's the cargo bay!"

" _Everything's in Cyrillic_!" Benji yelled back at him. " _It's like someone dumped out a box of Lucky Charms and made them into an alphabet_!"

Will gripped the sides of the table until his knuckles were white. "Benji!"

The door on the side of the plane popped open and Ethan slipped inside. Will released his grip on the table, breathing heavily. Ethan Hunt had pulled a lot of crazy stunts in the time Will had known him, but this was by far the craziest. "Ethan?" he asked into his mic. He waited.

No response.

Then, something slipped off the cargo ramp and dropped into the sky. A moment later, a parachute billowed out.

Ethan's voice came over the comm., wind whipping past the microphone. " _Hey, Brandt. Got the package off the plane. Mission accomplished_."

"Oh, shut up," Will bit back, throwing his headset across the room.

* * *

**Undisclosed Location**   
**Helicarrier**

Ensign Ryan Lind stared at the man standing in front of him in awe. Next to him, his friend and fellow SHIELD agent Claire Kyle gripped his arm excitedly. Someone coughed, and Ryan shot them a Look. "Shut up," he whispered.

Clint Barton ignored him, sighting down the length of his arrow. His eyes were zeroed in on the target at the end of the hangar bay, 330 feet down. He could hear the hushed whispers.

"No way in hell."

"Another twenty says he hits the target but not the bullseye."

"Shut _up_!" That was Lind again, and Clint had to refrain from rolling his eyes. He took a breath, pulled the string taught. Then, he let go. The arrow flew silently down the length of the helicarrier, and buried itself in the center circle. Down at the end, he heard someone yell, "Holy _shit_!"

Clint grinned, allowing his recurve to collapse into something more manageable, and checked his watch. "And that concludes our show," he said with a grin. He glanced meaningfully at Ensign Lind, saw the kid's eyes go wide, before ducking into the elevator and making his way up to the flight deck.

* * *

"Agent Barton!" the air officer greeted him as the doors slid back. "They're landing shortly!" He pointed up into the crystal-clear sky, where Clint could just make out the burn of a quinjet engine silhouetted against the black.

"Which one are we taking back to DC?" he asked him over the din of the flight deck operations.

"231!" the air officer responded. He nodded to a singular jet currently being fueled. Clint nodded and gave him a small salute. He jogged over to the jet and started running it through pre-flight check. Behind him, he heard the jet with his partner, Natasha Romanoff, and Captain America, land on the deck. The engines were running down outside just as he was getting his clearance to take off.

" _231, Tower. Skies are clear."_

"Roger that," Clint responded, then craned around in the pilot's seat. "Welcome aboard Hawk Air, I'll be your pilot this evening," he greeted his Avengers teammates. Both of them looked dog tired from their mission. He got a smile from Natasha…and nothing from Steve. "Hey, Cap," he greeted the Avengers _de facto_ leader. Captain America said nothing as he strapped into his seat, pulling his helmet off and letting it fall to the floor beside him.

Clint frowned as Natasha came up to sit next to him in the copilot's chair. "Rough night?" he asked. He'd been tasked with picking up the second half of Strike Team Delta and Cap after a mission in the Indian Ocean and bring them back to DC for debriefing.

"The usual," Natasha responded, putting her headset on. Out of the corner of his eye, Clint caught Steve give her a sideways glance before closing his eyes.

"Uh…huh," Clint replied. "Whatever you say."


	2. Chapter 2

**Donald & Laura Brandt Home  
Baltimore, Maryland**

Will Brandt opened his eyes to Christie Brinkley.

The corners of the poster were curling, twenty years of time eating away at the double-sided tape he'd stuck it up there with as a high school senior. Or had it been Clint? He couldn't remember, they'd both been obsessed with her since Billy Joel's "Uptown Girl" video.

He could hear his parents downstairs in the kitchen. He didn't know if they knew he was there or not; he'd come in late last night….after the bar closed. The Belarus mission, on top of the one in Jakarta, on top of the one in Honolulu, plus that little stint in Malibu…Clint would've joked that he'd aged ten years in the past two, and he probably wouldn't be wrong.

After finishing the paperwork for the mission, he'd gone out to drink away the stress, and then his parents' place had been closer than his own. Should he have been ashamed that he was north of 40 years old and still sleeping in the bunkbeds he'd shared with his brother growing up? Probably, but-

"Morning, kiddo," Donald Brandt leaned in the doorway to his sons' bedroom. The Brandt patriarch had brown hair graying at the temples and blue eyes that matched Clint's. Will's eyes were brown, like their mother Laura's. It was really the only difference in the two of them, besides their preferred choice of weapon.

Will blinked and rolled onto his side. "How did you-"

"Your mom and I are used to you guys sneaking in," the former Baltimore PD officer informed his son. "And, you know, if you'd wanted a drinking buddy last night, I'm retired now…"

Will swung his legs over the bunk and grimaced as the room spun. "Ow. Yeah, well, if I had, Mom would be giving us both hell this morning. Please tell me there's coffee downstairs?"

Donald chuckled. "Yeah, but only if you go shower." He was still laughing as he closed the door, leaving Will alone.

He rubbed a hand over his face and carefully climbed off the bunk, trying not to kill himself in his hungover state. On the shelf, his text alert rang out, and he grimaced as the sound echoed in his ears. He grabbed it and squinted at the screen.

_IHOP, 15min? –C_

He raised an eyebrow. _Clint was in town?_ The two of them in the same ZIP code was rarer than a blue moon. He paused, listening to his parents laugh over something in the comics section of the paper.

Will needed someone to talk to. His parents and Clint were the only ones, (well, besides the Avengers and Will's own IMF team) that knew what he actually did for a living. And while his parents were always great for a listening ear, he and Clint had their own deal when it came to the perils of the job. They called it 'declassifying,' that is, even if they weren't supposed to talk about it, they did anyway.

He needed to talk to Clint. He thumbed the lock screen and shot him a quick text back.

_30min. Shower first. –W_

The reply was almost instantaneous. _Thank you! –C_

Will snorted as he tossed the phone down on the bathroom counter and fired up the shower.

* * *

**IHOP  
Halethorpe, MD**

Clint glanced up to see his brother coming in the door, his sunglasses firmly planted over his eyes. Will was hungover. That was interesting. His brother was not known to be the heavier drinker of the two brothers. He waved and Will threaded his way through the tables to the booth in the back. Clint was sitting at an angle, his eyes watching the whole restaurant.

"Morning, sunshine!" Clint singsonged as Will slid into the booth. Will flipped him off. "Hey now, there's kids present," Clint teased him.

"Shut up," Will responded. Their waitress came by, and Clint motioned for a second mug for coffee. There was no dialogue between them until Will's mug arrived and he'd consumed a quarter of the cup. "What the hell are you doing around here?" Will asked him.

Clint shifted on the hard blue cushion. "Just got back from a pickup," he replied. "Had to go get Tasha and Cap. I needed to keep up my quals."

"Ooo, Tasha and Cap were out doing something clandestine together?" Will wiggled an eyebrow.

Clint rolled his eyes. "You're an idiot."

"I still don't get why you haven't asked her out," Will said.

"I've told you; Tasha scares the hell out of me. And because I don't want to jeopardize a good partnership," Clint added. He cocked his head. "You of all people oughta know what happens when you do."

He couldn't see Will's eyes under the Oakleys but he knew they were probably shooting him a death glare. "Sorry. Low blow."

"It's fine." Their waitress came back and they both ordered. Then, Clint leaned forward. "I needed to talk to you. Speaking of Tasha and Cap…something's…off." He recounted the encounter on the jet coming back from the helicarrier.

"Any idea what the mission was?" Will asked him, more alert now.

"I know the boat was hijacked by pirates," Clint said, keeping his voice low below the din of the morning crowd. "I know Sitwell and some other high-ranking agents were onboard. And I know Natasha and Steve went in with Rumlow and his boys to go rescue them."

"SHIELD has helicarriers," Will said. "Why need a cargo ship?"

Clint shrugged. "No idea. Not my department. All I know is that they sent Natasha and Steve in for the rescue."

Will leaned back. "Any friendly casualties?"

Clint shook his head. "Just the pirates. It's weird, right?"

"Weird," Will agreed. "Where're Natasha and Steve now?"

"Probably getting debriefed," Clint said, glancing up as their waitress came back with breakfast. "Thanks, sweetheart," he told her, giving her a winning smile. She grinned back. "Anyway, what about you? Is there a reason you're hungover on a Monday morning?"

Will pinched the bridge of his nose as he reached for the ketchup for his eggs. "Rough mission," he replied. "Just the latest in a string of screw-ups."

Clint glanced around. "Uh. The world's still spinning, so…?" He frowned. "I'm confused."

Will ignored him and tackled his eggs. "The world may not keep spinning, at least not for the IMF," Will said after a moment.

"Look, I get that you're a secret agent man," Clint told him, trying to lighten the mood, "but you need to quit playing this game of vagueness and talk to me."

Will reached for his phone. He tapped a few icons, then wordlessly handed the phone to Clint and resumed eating. "Agent William Brandt, you are hereby summoned to appear in front of the Senate Intelligence Committee Monday, 11 a.m….to discuss the recent mishaps undertaken by the Impossible Missions Force covert team headed by Agent Ethan Hunt." He frowned. "'Mishaps?'" he repeated.

"Apparently, the committee doesn't like how we do our job," Will told him. 'Quite frankly, I'm not sure I do either, anymore. When Plan A goes south, by the end of the mission, we're on plan Z."

"And yet, I still repeat, the world is still spinning," Clint said. "I mean, come on. They're not the ones in the field, they don't know how intel can change from minute to minute, or how something can turn into a complete shitstorm in zero to sixty." Clint shook his head. "I hate it when the bureaucrats get involved in us doing our jobs," he sighed. "Last time someone tried that, they almost nuked New York."

Will glanced up. "You wanna go that meeting instead of me?" he asked hopefully. "They'd never know the difference."

Clint shook his head. "Not even a little," he replied.

Will sighed, and pushed his plate away. "I should get going, I've got no idea what the Beltway looks like."

"Hey," Clint said sharply. His brother paused. "I'm sure it'll be fine, Will," Clint said. "I'm willing to bet that Ethan Hunt's missions have been going south ever since they hired him." He nodded triumphantly when his brother cracked a corner of a smile. "This is probably just a formality. Don't worry about it." Then, he grinned. "Besides, if they can you, I bet I can get you on at SHIELD," he added.

Will glanced at him over the top of his glasses. "Thanks," he said finally. "And look, if whatever is going down between Steve and Natasha is bothering you so much, go ask them."

"Yeah, okay," Clint said. "Just ask a trained assassin who can kill me with her fingernails about the tension between her and Captain America, Earth's greatest hero."

He looked up at his brother. "Sure you don't wanna trade?" He was only half joking.

* * *

**Capitol Hill  
Senate Committee on Intelligence Hearing**

Will Brandt tapped his foot on the carpet and tried his very best not to glare daggers at the salt and peppered head of the CIA, Alan Hunley. Hunley was currently in the middle of a rant and had been for the last ten minutes, beginning with some pompous introductions and the complete history of the IMF-but abridged, to fit his very narrow opinion of the Impossible Missions Force. "And now more recently," he was saying, "a Russian nuclear warhead-

" _Disarmed_ nuclear warhead," Brandt muttered under his breath.

Hunley glanced sideways at him. Brandt ignored him. "A Russian nuclear warhead-"

"-Rendered safe by the IMF-" Brandt cut in again.

"-Clipped the TransAmerica pyramid before plunging into San Francisco Bay-"

"Saving the Western Hemisphere," Brandt pointed out with a shrug.

"-and was made possible by IMF agents who willingly provided nuclear launch codes to a _known terrorist_!" Hunley finished, giving his attention to Brandt. "Do I have _that_ right, Agent Brandt?"

Will ignored him, looking up at the four members of the Senate Intelligence Committee. "I can neither confirm nor deny any details of any such operation without the approval of the Secretary of the IMF," he said finally.

Hunley took that as an opportunity to continue. "This all happened in the same week that the IMF infiltrated the Kremlin," Hunley went on, gesturing to the screen on the left of the room. An image of the Kremlin, in Moscow, filled the screen. "This is the Kremlin _before_ ," Hunley said, and then switched the picture. A tourist cell-phone video played, showing the Kremlin disintegrating into a pile of rubble, black smoke filling the screen as terrified people ran in the opposite direction. "And this is after," he said. He glared at Brandt again, as if daring him to deny it.

Which, Brandt had no problem doing. "I can neither confirm nor deny any details of any such operation without-"

"The approval of the Secretary of the IMF? The same secretary who was involved in a car accident the next evening and whose body has never been found?"

Brandt cringed. He'd been _in_ that car, and knew perfectly well why the Secretary's body wasn't in the vehicle- Ethan had pushed the body out with a road flare in its' hand to draw fire away from them. His body had never been recovered from the Moskva River. "In fact," Hunley said, turning to face Will and placing both hands on either side of him on the table, "until this panel elects his replacement, you really can't say much of _anything_ , can you, Agent Brandt?"

Will met his gaze for the first time. "Well, I didn't write the rules, Mr. Hunley," he pointed out, leaning back in his chair. _Get out of my space, you smug bastard._

Hunley eyed him for a moment, and Will held his gaze, crossing his arms over his chest. "Mr. Chairman," Hunley said, turning to face the committee, "the so-called Impossible Mission Force is not only a rogue organization, it is _outdated_ , a throwback to a time with no oversight, and in fact, it's time to _dissolve_ the IMF-"

Will's jaw dropped. _Hold up just a goddamned minute! "_ Mr. Chairman," Will spoke up, sitting up ramrod straight in his chair, but his protest was drowned out by Hunley.

"-and transfer their salvageable assets to the CIA!"

"Mr. Chairman!" Will objected, standing up so fast he almost knocked over his chair. "The IMF has operated without oversight for the past 40 years! Are its' methods unorthodox? Yes." Will recalled his conversation with his brother, and brought up the point. "Are the results less than perfect? Absolutely. But without the IMF-"

The Chairman of the committee held up a hand, and Will stopped talking. The white-haired senator from Oregon motioned for Will to sit down, then continued. "This panel recognizes the IMF's contributions to global security. But the events laid out by CIA Director Hunley show a pattern of wanton disregard for protocol." He leaned forward, clasping his hands together in front of him. "From where I sit, your 'unorthodox' methods are indistinguishable from chance. And your results-"

"Mr. Chairman-" Will spoke up, but the Chairman silenced him with a Look as he kept on.

"-And your results, perfect or _not_ , look suspiciously like luck. I am afraid," he told Will, "that today is the day…the IMF's luck runs out."

Will felt the color drain from his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hunley's satisfied smirk.

* * *

" _Hunley's an asshole_ ," Clint declared. " _He called you outdated_?"

"Outdated and without oversight," Will bit into the phone. He was standing out in the marble-tiled hallway of the Capitol, sitting on a bench. He loosened his tie.

" _Let's hope he and Pierce never get into it_ ," Clint said. " _If you're outdated, imagine what he'd say about SHIELD._ " There was a pause on the other end of the phone. " _I'm sorry, little brother_. _Looks like I wasn't much help this morning._ "

"It's not your fault, and you're not half as sorry as I'm going to be," Will replied, leaning back and closing his eyes. "Benji is my next phone call. This'll break his heart."

" _You know, you_ could _always come work for SHIELD_ ," Clint reminded him again. " _Fury'd love to have people with your team's background. We've got Strike Teams you'd be perfect for._ "

Will sighed. "Let me worry about this job first before I start worrying about another." His phone beeped, and he glanced at the screen. INCOMING CALL. "Clint, I gotta take this. I'll see you tonight?"

" _Yeah. Dibs on top bunk. Later._ " Clint hung up and Will flicked over to the incoming call. "This is Brandt."

" _Go secure_."

Will recognized Ethan's voice instantly, and swiped the screen to bring up the secure connection. "Go," he said quickly.

" _London Terminal is compromised. Agent in place is down. Requesting immediate extraction_." Ethan spoke in a clipped tone, and Will leaned forward, looking around to see if anybody was listening.

"What happened?" he asked.

" _A face. Wanted something. Information. Could've killed me but didn't_." Ethan's voice held a strange echo. Will wished he was back at the IMF to trace the call to find out where his friend was. He didn't like the sound of what Ethan was telling him, already making a mental note to get someone over to the London terminal posing as a storefront vinyl shop.

"Okay…What do you think that means?" Will's analyst brain was going to work. _Guy has the opportunity to kill Ethan but doesn't, instead, wants to pump him for information. Willing to take out the operative at the London record store to get to Ethan._ He was so busy thinking he almost missed what Ethan was telling him.

" _The Syndicate. It's real_."

Will got up and moved off the bench. _The Syndicate_. The shadowy organization they had been tracking since the end of the Ghost Protocol debacle. Ethan had gotten the phone call practically after Will had left him at the pier in Seattle. Every mission they'd had since Mumbai had been attempts to learn more about the organization. Even the disaster in Honolulu had been an attempt to get information about the Syndicate. The problem was that for all intents and purposes, the Syndicate didn't exist. They were dangerous and they were practically invisible. Will forced himself to keep listening. " _They know who we are, how we operate. I think I know why they've been so hard to find. Focus any resources on finding any covert operatives. Doesn't matter what country or agency, just dead or presumed dead."_

_Resources. About that..._ "Ethan-" Will tried to cut his team leader off, but Ethan pressed on.

" _Start_ _with Janik Vinter. He's also known as the Bone Doctor-_ "

"Ethan, I can't _do_ that," Will burst out.

There was a pause at the end of the phone. " _What_?" Ethan's voice sounded in disbelief.

_Oh God…_ "The committee shut us down," Will told his leader. He heard Ethan swear. He tried to ask Will about it, but Will kept talking over him. "Operations were handed over to CIA. There's no more IMF. I've been ordered to bring everyone in," he finished grimly. He took a breath and let it out. "Ethan, I-"

" _I understand, Brandt_ ," Ethan said finally, and there was an undercurrent of disappointment. " _We didn't have this conversation. You don't know where I am. As far as you know, I disappeared in London_."

"Look, Ethan…." Will tried to stay professional, when what he really wanted to do was break down apologizing. "Can you find this man you saw?"

There was finality in Ethan's voice. " _I won't stop until I do_."

"This may very well be our last mission, Ethan," Will told him. "Make it count."

He didn't realize he was talking to nothing until Ethan didn't respond.

Will pressed his head against the wall and banged his head against it lightly.

* * *

"Well, since we're going to be working together, Agent Brandt," Hunley's smooth voice interrupted his pity party, and he reluctantly turned to face his new boss. "I want you to choose your next words carefully," Hunley said. "Where is Hunt?"

Will wondered if he'd heard any of the conversation, decided to bluff. "I don't know."

"Don't lie to me," Hunley threatened.

_Shit, well, there goes that._ But he decided to stick with it. "I have no way of contacting him. He was deep cover. Last I heard, he was tracking the Syndicate."

"That's bull," Hunley said. "The CIA has never discovered any _actual_ intel regarding this so-called Syndicate."

_That's because your so-called intelligence gathering sucks._ "What are you implying?" Will asked instead.

"Implying? No, stating. In fact, leveling an accusation." Will raised an eyebrow. Hunley stepped up to him, and this time Will didn't shrink away. "Ethan Hunt is both an arsonist and fireman at the same time. The Syndicate is a figment of his imagination, created to justify the IMF's existence."

Will muttered a choice word in Mandarin. _This pompous asshole has_ no _idea…_

"I'm going to find him, Brandt, and when I do, he will be called upon to justify every act of wanton mayhem that he is responsible for!" He smirked. "Welcome to the CIA, Agent Brandt." Hunley turned, headed down the hall.

"You'll never find him!" Will called after his retreating figure. It was a small victory, but he needed it after the massive failure that was today.

_But today isn't over_. He still hadn't talked to Benji, and this was going to break his best friends' heart.

He wondered if his dad's offer to be a drinking buddy was still good.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Triskelion- SHIELD HQ  
Washington, DC**

Clint's mind was still on his conversation with his brother as he parked his motorcycle in the basement garage of the Triskelion and punched the elevator for the eighth floor of the building. The text he'd gotten from Natasha had said she had her debrief with Fury at ten and then she was free. _And then maybe I can figure out why she and Cap are so damned chilly with each other._

The elevator opened before his floor and the aforementioned leader of the Avengers, Steve Rogers, was standing in the hall, in a leather jacket. "Clint. Hi," Steve greeted him as he slid in next to him. Captain America looked like he hadn't slept much.

"Well, that was friendlier than earlier," Clint couldn't help but say. "Tasha around?"

"She's with Fury now. That's where I'm on my way from." Steve sounded…different. Clint couldn't figure it.

"Debrief?" Clint asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Steve nodded. "Yeah. Sorry, not much for conversation this morning. Long night."

"Lot of that going around," Clint replied. "It sounds like my brother might be out of a job here soon," he said, filling in Steve on what he could.

"Sorry to hear that," Steve sympathized, sounding sincere. "I'd say he should come work for SHIELD, but if he's looking for someplace stable, this probably isn't it."

Clint frowned. "What's going on, Cap?" he asked him. "You don't sound like your usual chipper self," he added. "Something happen in the Indian Ocean?"

Steve was silent. Clint could tell he was debating on what he should say- or _could_ say. Then, "Maybe you ought to ask Tasha about it," he said finally. "I don't know, maybe I'm just behind the times."

Clint opened his mouth to say something, but Steve was staring at his shoes. _Obviously this conversation is over._ The elevator dinged on Clint's floor, and he stepped out, glancing back at Steve. "Talk to you later, Cap."

Steve offered him a two-fingered wave as the doors slid closed between them.

Clint sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I hate Mondays," he said aloud to no one. He swiped his badge for the gym and changed into workout gear. If he knew Tasha, after a debrief with Fury, the gym was usually her next stop. He attacked the nearest punching bag. The last time he'd seen Steve so…lost…aliens were attacking New York City. Whatever had their team leader in a funk must have been serious.

He heard the door open behind him, and felt, rather than saw, Tasha come up behind him. He felt her fingers grip his shoulder and he pulled her over his back. She landed lithely, and for the next ten minutes, they didn't speak. When, finally, Clint let Natasha win by tap out, he rolled out from under her legs backwards into a sitting position.

"What the _hell_ happened, Tasha?" he asked her. "Cap looks like they just told him he'd been frozen for 70 years. Again."

Natasha gracefully slid into a stretch, loosing her hair from the ponytail she'd stuck it in. "I told you. It was a typical extraction."

"Typical my ass," Clint scoffed. "Batroc? Not typical. And what the hell was Jasper Sitwell doin' out in the middle of the Indian Ocean? Sitwell's one of the only other Level 7 agent I know besides Fury, Hill and…hell, Phil." The name brought up a pang of sadness in his chest and he forced it away.

"Look, it's really nothing," Natasha told him. "Steve's job was the hostages and mine was a data extraction from the ship's computers."

"What data?" Clint asked her. He remembered Steve's words- _Maybe I'm just behind the times._ "What do Fury and Pierce have in the works that requires Captain _America_ and the Black Widow to extract?"

"Fury's Christmas list?" Natasha suggested. "And as to why it was the two of us, I dunno, maybe he thought you needed a break."

"Bullshit," Clint called her on it. "I've been cleared by Psych for almost eleven months." He narrowed his eyes. "And thanks for bringing it up."

"Did you not sleep last night?" Natasha asked him, concern lacing her voice.

Clint rolled his eyes. "I slept fine. Shitty morning. Don't try to change the subject."

"You need to let this go," Natasha said. "You're not cleared. I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to." She moved to stand, but Clint reached out and caught her ankle.

"We're _partners_ ," he reminded her. "And Cap's the leader of the Avengers. So if something is going on that's going to screw either of those up…"

Natasha stared at him. "Don't you have a helicarrier to get back to?" she asked him, yanking her ankle away. "Something about quals to keep up?" With that, she got up and headed for the women's locker room.

Clint stared at her retreating back. Then, he burst out laughing. "Natasha, you little cheat," he grinned.

She hadn't told him exactly what had happened. But she'd given him a place to start.

* * *

**CIA Headquarters  
** **Langley, Virginia**

"All right, everybody, heads up! This is it."

Will leaned against the wall of one of the CIA's many war rooms as Alan Hunley called the shots. All eyes were on a single satellite feed with the coordinates for Havana, Cuba pulsing in the corner. Somehow, Hunley had gotten a lead that Ethan Hunt was in Havana, and had sent a fully-armed tactical team to bring the 'rogue' Hunt in. _A bit overkill_ , _Benji would say_ , Will thought to himself and tried to hide his grimace.

Benji was pissed with him. He'd expected it, but he hadn't expected it to go on this long. It had almost been a week.

* * *

" _That's so typical of you, Will," Benji had said heatedly, the two of them meeting in the satellite control room. "Kowtowing to the bureaucrats. Just like Dubai."_

_Will's jaw had dropped. "I'm sorry?" he sputtered. "As I recall, you all talked me out of the diplomatic solution and into a firefight at a Mumbai TV station!" He threw his hands in the air. "I fought my ass off to keep IMF active in there! Hunley-"_

" _Hunley is an asshole," Benji stated matter-of-factly, echoing Will's brother's sentiment. "And Ethan? Where's he been since you sent him on the run?"_

_"Since_ _I sent him...he was already running, Benji! "Will sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. It was a trademark move that both brothers did when they were frustrated. "I haven't had any contact. Have you?"_

_He thought he detected a slight pause in Beniji's voice when he answered, "No. Not a word."_

" _I wish he'd check in," Will said. "We know next to nothing about this Syndicate other than what he told me at the Capitol."_

" _Yeah, to look into missing or presumed dead foreign intelligence operatives." Benji snorted. "That's not exactly a short list."_

" _You'll find the connection," Will told him._

_Benji shook his head. "This is so screwed up," he said. With that, he'd walked out of the room._

* * *

Will blinked and snapped back to the present. Benji hadn't spoken to him since. And Will was relegated to watching in the background as Hunley tracked Ethan around the globe. Hunley kept him just enough in the loop to gloat about it, but enough out of it that Will still had to come to work in the morning to sort through meaningless intel.

The voice of Alec Coleman came over the speaker, the leader of the tac team. " _Alpha team prepped, standing by."_

Hunley glanced smugly back at Will, and Will had to resist the urge to flip him off. "Execute," Hunley ordered, crossing his arms over his chest, watching the body cam of Coleman as Coleman entered an alley door and up two flights of stairs in a Havana tenement. Coleman stopped in front of an apartment door, his men filing in behind him. He gave orders to watch the exits, then planted his boot in the wooden door, splintering it as it fell off the hinges. Coleman entered the room and swept it.

"Langley…there's nobody here," Coleman announced after all his men had checked in.

Hunley turned to Will, fury in his eyes. Will allowed himself a smile and a raised eyebrow as if to say, _What did you expect?_ The guy was tracking Ethan-freaking-Hunt. Ethan was reckless and an adrenaline junkie, but he was not sloppy.

Then, Will spotted something on Coleman's body cam, and he jumped in front of Hunley, raising the mic. "Face the north wall," he barked. Hunley swore off to his left, but Will ignored it as Coleman stepped forward, closer to the…mural…on the wall.

Headshots. Some faces he recognized, sketched in Ethan's precise hand from his eidetic memory. Headlines from around the globe of catastrophes, financial crises. A world map with thumbtacks scattered across it. Will's mind was already racing, searching for connections. _Ethan, you've been busy, my friend._

"What the hell…" Hunley muttered, but Will knew what it was.

A message.

For him.


	4. Chapter 4

"Hey."

Benji didn't look up, and Will sighed. "Still mad?"

His friend ignored him, eyes focused on his screens. Will ran a hand through his hair. "Look," he said, glancing around, "I got a message. From Ethan."

There was a slight pause in the keyboard, but then it continued. "I was hoping you could do some digging for me," Will said. "I spent the morning categorizing everything by priority, geographic profile, ran a few names through INTERPOL…but I can't find a connection in any of it. I was hoping you might be able-" Will paused, craning his head around Benji's workstation. "Benj…is that HALO 5?"

Benji cleared the game off his screen so fast that Will wasn't even sure he'd seen the first person shooter at all. Without looking at Will, he held out a hand. Will nodded. "Okay then." He handed over a flashdrive and Benji palmed it. Then, without a word, he returned to HALO.

"Thanks," Will said awkwardly, turning to walk away. As he did, he passed the guy from the mailroom, who threw an envelope down on Benji's desk. He sort of glanced at Will, and Will gave him an awkward, "Morning." Will ducked back into his own station, sat down, and rubbed a hand over his face. He needed a jolt of caffeine, but by this time midmorning, it was always watered down and cold in the breakroom on their floor. He debated leaving the building to go get something, but as he was contemplating, his phone buzzed. A text message from an unidentified number. _Go Secure_.

Will swiped his screen and called the number back. _"Hey_ ," Clint's voice greeted him. " _How's It goin' Secret Agent Man?"_

"Shut up," Will replied. "What are you doin' calling me in the middle of the day?"

" _Can you meet me?"_ Clint asked.

Will rolled his eyes. "Not without Hunley asking a helluva lot of questions," he replied. "This can't wait 'til I get off?"

" _When's that_?"

Will glanced at the clock. "I can probably sneak out in about an hour," he replied. "You in town still?"

" _Yeah. At Mom and Dad's. Dad took Mom out for dinner at the Rod 'n Reel, so we'll have the place to ourselves."_

"You cooking?"

Clint chuckled on the other end. " _If getting takeout from Dim Sum Jones counts,_ " he replied.

"Whatever," Will said. Benji walked by his cubicle, being tailed by another agent that Will knew worked under Hunley, and Will said quickly, "Gotta go. See ya." He hung up and poked his head over the top of the cubicle. He watched Benji step into the room at the end of the hall and give a jaunty wave to the woman sitting at the computer there. He frowned. "What the hell?"

Then he saw the blood pressure cuff. _A polygraph?_ _Seriously_? He frowned. _Why would they need to give Benj a polygraph?_

It hit him. The only reason Hunley-and there the SOB was-would give Benji a polygraph, was if he thought that he was in contact with Ethan.

_Was Ethan contacting Benji?_ Then, "Shit!" he gasped. Hunley had looked up, caught him looking. Will sunk back into his cubicle. Fifteen minutes later, an irate Benji stormed past his cubicle, followed by Hunley, who stopped in Will's doorway.

"Any headway on what Hunt left on the wall in Havana?" he asked.

"Yes sir," Will kept a straight face. "I think they were pencil sketches of People's Sexiest Men Alive," he said.

"Keep it up, Brandt," Hunley threatened, "and you'll be the next one under a lie detector."

Will brought up the CIA intranet on his computer as he said, "Don't know how a polygraph will tell you anything you don't already know. You keep me so close I'm surprised you can't see my pulse through my veins anyway."

He waited until Hunley's shoes clicked away down the hall before muttering, "Asshole."

Will clocked out ten minutes later, having had enough of the day. It's not like Hunley would fire him. He needed to keep him close. Will looked down the hall as he headed for the elevator. Benji wasn't at his desk. He frowned. _Where'd he go?_ He spotted the manila envelope that had been delivered earlier in Benji's trash can. Looking around, he bent down and swiped it as he got on the elevator. Inside, he flipped it over and looked at the return address.

_Wien Staatsoper  
_ _Wien, Austria_

"Austria?" Will said out loud. "What the hell is in Austria?"

* * *

**Brandt Residence  
Baltimore, MD**

Will slammed the door of his car with a little more force than usual. Clint's motorcycle was parked in the drive. He strode up the driveway and cut back behind the house. He'd guessed right, Clint was on the back deck, an open beer in his fingers and what smelled like porkchops on the grill. "So much for Chinese takeout, huh?"

"Yeah well, you're welcome," Clint shrugged. "So, how was your day?" he asked.

Will collapsed into one of the chairs. "Don't get me started," he replied.

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," Clint said. Will caught the tone of his voice-Clint hadn't just got him out of work to play hooky. Clint had found something out about what was going on with Tasha and Cap. Will popped the top off his beer using the deck table and propped his feet up on the tabletop. He spread his arms as if to say, "I'm listening."

Clint flipped the chops and then closed the grilltop. "Something's definitely up between Tasha and Cap," he said.

Will raised an eyebrow. "No shit? They're a thing?"

Clint almost whacked him with the tongs. "No, you idiot." He pointed to the salad greens on the table. "Toss that," he ordered.

Will obediently reached for the sliced tomatoes and grated cheese sitting out and started dumping them into the bowl. "Something with their mission?" he asked.

Clint gave him an overview of the _Lemurian Star_ mission. "Tasha needed to get data off the ship's computers, but nobody bothered to tell Steve that's what she was doing."

"I'm sure Cap loved being left out of the loop," Will said knowingly. "Lord knows how pissed he was on the helicarrier with that whole Phase II thing." He deliberately said nothing about his brother's part in that fiasco. "So Fury's keeping secrets again?" he asked.

"Yeah," Clint said, doling out the porkchops onto two paper plates. He flicked off the propane and sat down. "So anyway, I confront Cap about it, and he says that I should ask Tasha, because he's 'behind the times.' And Tasha tells me I should let it go, that I'm not cleared for it."

Will frowned. "Clint, you're one of the ones with the highest clearance of anybody in SHIELD apart from Fury, Natasha, and what's his name that runs it."

"Alexander Pierce," Clint confirmed, "and there's a few more besides me, but yeah, I know, right? So what do I do? I pull a Benji and I get on the computer."

Will cringed at the name drop. "What'd you find?"

Clint shook his head. "That's just it. Not a damn thing. Whatever it is, it's sealed and it goes high up. _But_ ," he added, "I think it's got something to do with the helicarrier fleet."

"How so?" Will was intrigued now, his food getting cold in the late afternoon sun.

"Tasha," Clint said. "She sort of…implied."

Will grinned. "Told you without telling you," he said, and Clint nodded.

"Anyway, I don't know all the specs, but things are getting interesting at SHIELD," Clint finished. He pointed at Will. "And what about you?"

Will sighed. "Ethan's been having us track this group called the Syndicate for almost two years," he said. "They're…well, they're _us_ ," he said. "Like IMF. Only where we're trying to keep bad things out of the hands of bad people, they're encouraging it. Running guns and drugs. Assassination, gun-for-hire stuff. Ethan left Benji and I a clue in Havana. Faces, places. I asked Benji to run them through INTERPOL and a few other databases to see what came up."

"What'd he find?" Clint drained his beer and disappeared into the house, coming out with two more. He handed one to his brother.

"Dunno," Will said. "Benji took off before I left this afternoon. He got a package from Austria. No idea what was in it or who sent it. I'm thinking it had to be Ethan, but I wonder...why Benj and not me?"

"Maybe Benji-if he is talking to Ethan-knows how far Hunley is up your ass," Clint offered. "Anyway, sounds like things are gettin' interesting at the CIA too."

"Yeah," Will agreed. "And I hate that nobody's talking. I'm an analyst; I thrive on data. And I don't have any, and-"He punched the top of the table in frustration. "And I really _fucking_ hate it." He leaned back and closed his eyes. "I hate not having my team together. I hate that Hunley screwed us over. I hate that Benji thinks I screwed the pooch and got us fired. And I hate that the damn Syndicate is floating around out there, planning God knows what, and there's not an IMF to stop them!"

"Yeah," Clint agreed. "I feel you. I mean, you know, not all the IMF/CIA and Syndicate crap, but it does suck when your best friend is keepin' secrets from you," he replied. He looked at Will over the top of his beer.

"Think it's too late for us to switch careers?"

Will let out a bark of laughter that turned into a full-on belly laugh. "Jesus, we do sound like a couple of overworked secretaries, don't we?" he choked out.

"God, yes!" Clint replied, shaking his head. "Maybe we should both call in sick tomorrow and play hooky," he decided.

His brother's eyes widened in horror. "And have Hunley show up on our doorstep?"

Clint grimaced. "Hell. Good point. Although if I ever met the guy, I'd happily put an arrow through him for you."

Will snorted and Clint winked. "What are brothers for?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Brandt Residence  
Baltimore, MD**

"Mornin' boys!"

Clint sat up so fast he nearly banged his head on Christie Brinkley. "What the _hell_!" he swore, reaching blindly for the sidearm he knew he didn't have on him. Below him, Will was laughing hysterically, in time with their father, who was standing in the doorway in his bathrobe, arms crossed over his chest and a trademark Brandt smirk.

"I wasn't gonna fall for it two days in a row, Dad," Will was telling Don Brandt.

"That's why I love it when you're both home," Donald replied. He came into the room and tugged on Clint's foot, nearly yanking the Avenger off the bed. "I can at least get one of ya." He slapped the wood bunk frame. "Breakfast in ten. See you downstairs!" he boomed. Will heard their mother scolding him from the kitchen.

"Sonofabitch," Clint sat up, rubbing his face. He reached for the pillow and chucked it at Will, who was still snickering below him. "Asshole."

"Hey, I got it yesterday, it's only fair," Will replied. "Come on, I can smell Mom's pancakes, and I might even have time to eat them before work," he added, looking at his watch. It was early. Apparently, retirement hadn't reset Donald Brandt's clock. Their father had started off with Baltimore PD as a beat cop, eventually working his way up to detective before retiring. Will took the stairs two at a time and went into the kitchen, where Laura Brandt was just flipping over the last of the pancakes on the griddle. "Syrup," she commanded, and Will kissed her on the cheek before doing as he was told, retrieving the syrup from the fridge. "Thank you. Good morning, Will."

"Good morning," Will greeted her back, setting the bottle down on the table and sliding in next to his father. Donald had his head buried in the paper, so Will studied his mother. Laura Brandt was a retired librarian, having worked at one of the local high schools and then the local city branch. She looked well, definitely not showing her age or any signs of slowing down.

A few moments later, Clint came downstairs, dressed for the day in black jeans and a USMC sweatshirt. "Morning, Mom," he greeted Laura at the stove, grabbing the plate of finished food and bringing it to the table. He stole the coffee from in front of Will and poured himself a mug, and the Brandt family sat down for breakfast, like any other family in America.

_Any other normal family, where one brother is a superspy, and one's a superhero_ , Clint grinned to himself. He accepted the platter of pancakes from his mom and doled out three of them onto his plate.

"Save some for the rest of us," Will teased him.

"Oh, there's plenty more," Laura chided him gently. "Let him eat." She was beaming. It was a rare occasion when both her boys were home, and she loved it.

"He's got to stay in shape to be an Avenger," Will kidded.

Clint raised an eyebrow. "First of all, 'round' is a shape," he retorted. "Second, have you seen Tony?"

"Fair point," Will laughed. Just because the Iron Man armor had metal abs, didn't necessarily mean the man inside it did.

"Probably shouldn't make fun of the guy that signs your paychecks," Donald told Clint.

Clint shook his head. "Tony wouldn't part with his money like that," Clint said lightly. "SHIELD is still funding my Avenging for now."

"And the CIA is funding yours?" Donald asked Will.

Before Will could answer, probably with something snide and sarcastic, Clint's cell phone rang. "Clint," Laura scolded. "Phone at the table?"

"Forgot," Clint replied quickly, looking at the number. He glanced at Will. "It's Tasha." He stood up, moved to the living room. Will could still hear him over the clanking silverware and mugs of coffee. "Hey…. When?" His tone shifted into business mode, and Will frowned. "Give me ten minutes," he said, and came jogging back into the kitchen. "Gotta go, Mom, Dad." He eyed Will meaningfully, and Will knew he was meant to call him later. "Thanks for breakfast. Love you!" He grabbed one final swig of his coffee and squeezed his mother's shoulder. Laura Brandt reached up and returned the gesture, and Will saw her knuckles go white.

It wasn't an unfamiliar sight to either of them, and they both hated it. It was the grip she got on them when she felt like they were going into something awful.

"It's okay, Mom," Clint assured her, nodded to their father, and disappeared out the front door. Will heard his motorcycle rev to life and roar down the street.

* * *

**The Triskelion  
Washington, DC**

Clint was off his bike before the engine had been shut off. He didn't even leave his helmet on the back, tucking it under his arm and making a run for the elevator. Tasha had told him on the phone to meet her on five, and so that's where he was heading. As he got off on the floor, he passed a couple of younger agents talking in hushed tones, who didn't even look up as he passed. He knocked on Tasha's door- the quarters she kept when she was in DC. He waited, tapping a foot impatiently. When she opened the door, he ducked in past her and stood in the middle of the floor, arms crossed.

"No more games, Tash," he told her. "No more 'need to know' bullshit. What in the hell is going on?" he demanded.

Natasha, to her credit, took the outburst in stride. "Fury's disappeared," she told Clint. "Heard through Hill, this morning, his SUV was shot to hell and blown apart by a bunch of DC metro police that definitely _weren't_ metro PD."

" _What_?" Clint burst out. "Is he alive?"

"The SUV was empty when Hill got there. DC Metro tried to feed her some line about a gang or a terrorist attack, but there's nobody like that on Fury's radar."

"So who _is_?" Clint asked. "Tasha, what in the hell is happening?"

She nodded to the bed. "You might want to sit down," she told him.

Clint raised an eyebrow, but Natasha didn't speak until he was seated backwards in her desk chair. Then, she told him. About Project Insight. Three helicarriers designed to perpetually stay above the Earth's surface. And how 'insight' was the vanilla way of saying, 'spy.' About the files she'd extracted from the _Lemurian Star_ that contained encrypted data on the project. Data that Fury, despite his post as head of SHIELD operations, couldn't open, and even though Fury supposedly had full clearance on the project.

"Jesus Christ, Tasha. And you didn't tell Steve any of this because…?" Clint rested his forehead on his arms taking it all in.

"The less Steve knows, the better," Tasha replied. "Someone doesn't want whatever info is on that to get into more hands at SHIELD, not even Fury's. He's safer not knowing."

"What in the hell is on that drive…" Clint was thinking out loud. "Who's got the access for it? Pierce?"

Natasha shrugged. "I don't know. Fury had it last, and I haven't been told anything."

"Well, no wonder Steve's so pissed. Finding out SHIELD's basically going to spy on the American public. Big Brother is watching. And now someone's out to get Fury to get the drive back." Clint ran a hand through his hair. "Someone at SHIELD is hunting the director of SHIELD."

"And we don't know who. Or who they hired to assassinate him," Natasha confirmed.

Clint whistled. "Natasha, we're gonna have to tell Steve. We can't keep him in the dark about this!"

"Do we really want to put a target on Captain America's back?" Natasha countered. "Hell, I'm already watching _my_ back."

"Yeah, and if you'd have brought me in sooner, I could've been helping watch my _partner's_ back," Clint put emphasis on the word. "Natasha, ever since…ever since New York, we've got new responsibilities. We're a part of something bigger. Strike Team Delta isn't really a team anymore, not by ourselves. And we can't…. _you_ can't…keep shutting us out. Not anymore."

He waited, watching Natasha process that. Then, she nodded. "I'll contact Hill, see if she's heard anything. But I'm not putting Steve in the line of fire." She shook her head. "I can't do that to him."

"I really, _really_ don't like this," Clint told her.

"I know. But until we know more…maybe it's better if he doesn't get involved."

* * *

**CIA Headquarters  
Langley, VA**

Will was staring at a picture of the Vienna Opera House. He'd Googled the address on the envelope that had been on Benji's desk. He played around on their website. "Performance of _Turandot_ tonight," he whispered to himself, scrolling through their schedule of events. "Benji…what the hell was in that envelope…"

"Brandt."

Will minimized his screen and glanced up warily at Alan Hunley. "Hunley," he replied coolly.

"Your friend Benji didn't show up for work today," Hunley informed him.

Will leaned back in his chair. "And? I'm not his assistant; I don't know his schedule."

"I don't suppose you know where he might be?"

Will shook his head. "I really don't," he replied. He raised an eyebrow. "You wanna strap me to the polygraph and ask me again?"

Hunley swore under his breath and then turned and disappeared down the hall. Will rolled his eyes and brought his screen back up. Then, he thought of something. Poking his head above his cubicle, he looked around for Hunley. Then, he reached into his desk and pulled out the manila envelope, studying the return address. He popped open a new window on his computer and accessed the team's mission files. The ones Ethan had to finish and then sign off on at the end of all their missions.

He found the one from Mumbai and scrolled through the PDF to the final page. He studied Ethan's signature. Then, he studied the lettering on the envelope.

"Son of a bitch," he whispered.

They were the same.

_Ethan_ had sent Benji the envelope from Vienna. Benji was on his way to meet Ethan at the opera. Will tabbed over to the screen with the Vienna Opera House's schedule. _Turandot_ was scheduled for an 8PM performance, Austria time. He glanced at his watch.

It was 1:30, DC time. The opera started in a half hour.

_What is so important about the opera tonight?_ Out of sheer desperation for something, _anything_ , he pulled up a search engine and plugged in the Vienna Opera House. One headline from a Viennese tabloid brought him up short.

CHANCELLOR TO ATTEND 'TURANDOT' AT OPERA HOUSE

Will leaned back in his chair, loosening his tie. _Ethan…what in the hell are you up to?_

* * *

**The Triskelion  
Later that evening**

Clint fired arrow after arrow into the target he'd set up on the wall, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. He wasn't even concentrating on the target, and yet if he had been, he'd noticed that everything was in a neat circle around the bullseye.

He thought about Phil Coulson. The man had recruited him from Marine Corps boot camp when word had gotten around about his uncanny aim. Brought him to SHIELD. Sent him out to kill Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow, and then hadn't really batted an eye when he brought her in as an asset rather than fulfill his assignment. _What would Phil think of all this_ , he wondered, as he kept shooting. Phil had died facing down Loki on the helicarrier just before the Battle of New York.

_What would Phil say? Would he tell Tasha and me to dig deeper into it? To trust the higher-ups?_ He wished his handler was around to ask.

The gym door burst open and his final shot went wide, burying itself into the wall. He whirled. Natasha was standing there. "Fury's been admitted to GW University," she told him. "Gunshot wounds."

Clint dropped his bow and ran after her. Tasha drove like a bat out of hell to the hospital and threw it in park in a handicap spot, not caring if it was towed. She and Clint ran through the ER entrance, past the protesting admitting nurse, and past two irate doctors into the OR theatre.

Steve Rogers was there already, watching silently through the window as they worked on a motionless Nick Fury on the table.

"Is he gonna make it?" Natasha asked him.

It was a moment before Steve answered, barely looking at the two of them. "I dunno," he replied, staring through the glass.

"Tell me about the shooter," Natasha requested.

Steve was quiet as he replied, "He's fast. Strong." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "Had a metal arm."

Clint felt Natasha stiffen next to him. Unconsciously, he reached out and grabbed her arm. He glanced up in surprise as Maria Hill came with them. Maria was Fury's second in command. Natasha glanced at her. "Ballistics?" she asked.

Maria seemed surprised to see Clint, but answered Natasha, "Three slugs. No rifling. Untraceable."

"Soviet made." Natasha said it as a statement, not a question. Clint, Steve and Maria all turned to her, confused.

"Yeah," Maria said after a moment. She opened her mouth, probably to ask how in the hell Natasha knew that, when chaos erupted in the OR. The surgeon was calling for a defibrillator. Someone wheeled in a crash cart. The heart monitor was flatlined, emitting a long tone.

Clint heard it, but wasn't sure if anyone else did, when Natasha whispered, "Don't do this to me, Nick."

The four of them watched in silence as the doctors worked furiously to bring back Fury's heartbeat. And then, they saw the surgeon stop, and slowly back away. Steve stepped away from the window, disappearing into the hall. Natasha and Hill stood there in mute shock as the doctor called time of death.

Nick Fury was gone.

* * *

**CIA Headquarters  
Langley, VA  
Around that same time**

Will couldn't find any connections between the Chancellor, the opera, and the Syndicate, and it was driving him mad. According to his calculations on the clock, _Turandot_ was somewhere in the middle of its' first act. Ethan and Benji were probably inside, doing God knew what.

He'd looked up flights to Austria, but nothing would get him there faster than the next morning. Probably too late to do anything.

_Damn you, Ethan, keeping me out of the loop._ He pinched the bridge of his nose and debated whether or not it was worth it to get more coffee, when there was a small commotion from down the way. He stood up, grimacing at the aches in his muscles.

A few agents were at the end of the hall, looking at the flat screen mounted on the wall in the break room. Will frowned and made his way down the hall. The others glanced at him, but largely ignored him, focused on the CNN footage.

Will read the super on the bottom of the screen.

**Shots Fired at Vienna Opera.**


	6. Chapter 6

**George Washington University Hospital  
2:30 A.M.**

Clint stepped out into the hallway, pulling his phone from his jacket pocket. Steve followed him out. "You okay, Cap?" Clint asked him.

The blonde-haired super soldier turned to him. If he'd looked tired yesterday…today he looked every bit of his 70-plus years. "No," he replied softly. "No, I'm not."

"I'm sorry," Clint offered. He didn't know what else to say. Or how much Natasha wanted him to say.

To his credit, Steve managed a smile. "Not your fault," he replied. He glanced down the hall toward the ancient-looking vending machine at the end of the hall. "Um, I'm gonna go grab something…you want anything?"

Clint glanced up to see Frank Rumlow coming down the hall. He'd only met Rumlow a handful of times. The guy was built like a Mack truck and damn good at his job. "I'm good, Cap, thanks," he told Steve. "I'll be right back." Steve turned and walked toward the vending machine, and Clint made his way up to where Rumlow and a couple of the guys on his team were standing. They were talking, but stopped when Clint came over. Rumlow towered over him by about four inches. "Hawkeye," Rumlow acknowledged. "Where the hell you been lately?"

Clint shrugged. "Showing off," he replied with a grin. He nodded to the morgue. "I take it you heard…?"

Rumlow nodded. "Yeah. Hell of a thing." He nodded down to where Steve was bent over the glass of the vending machine. He looked like he was half-asleep leaning on the front. "Cap say anything about what happened?"

"Not to me," Clint replied. "Was Steve with him or something?"

"He brought him in," Rumlow explained.

Clint grimaced, knowing how that had to have affected Steve. He was down talking to Natasha, now, the two of them whispering by the machine.

"Hey, Cap," Rumlow called to him. "They want you back at SHIELD."

Steve looked up, caught Rumlow's eye. "Yeah, just a sec," he answered after a moment.

"They want you back _now_ ," Rumlow stressed.

Clint raised an eyebrow. _Harsh. Give the guy time to grieve…_ No wonder Steve looked mildly annoyed when he answered, "Okay." Clint caught a moment of…something…between Steve and Natasha, and then Steve followed Rumlow out the exit at the end of the hall.

Clint caught up to Natasha. "Hey," he said. "Are you okay?"

Tasha turned to him, her face blank. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Knock it off," Clint admonished. "Don't pull that with me."

His partner sighed. "Not here," she finally said. "Not at SHIELD."

Clint nodded. "I know a place," he told her. The two of them made their way up to ground level and out to the parking lot. Tasha tore the yellow parking ticket from behind the wipers, and tossed it on the ground. "That's littering," Clint joked, and got a smile from her, albeit a small one. "Let me drive?"

She wordlessly handed him the keys.

* * *

It was still dark as Clint drove them to the National Mall. The two of them walked around the Reflecting Pool until they hit the Lincoln Memorial, then, they sat down on the steps.

"So…" Clint began. "Are you okay?"

Natasha shook her head. "No." Clint waited her out, patiently. "The man who killed Fury…I know him," she said after a moment. "He's called the Winter Soldier."

Clint's eyes widened. "No _shit_ ," Clint breathed. "I know the name. I thought he was a myth!"

"He's not. Clint," Natasha turned to him. "Clint…there's something very wrong at SHIELD. I think Pierce is in on it. …" She stared out at the Reflecting Pools. "I don't think any of us are safe."

"You think Fury's death was a _hit_ ….what, by Pierce?" Clint struggled to comprehend what his partner was saying. "Why?"

"It's got something to do with Project Insight," she said. "I don't know…we need to find out what was on that USB. I just copied the files. I don't know what was in them. I think Fury gave them to Steve before he was killed, and I think Pierce thinks Steve knows what's on them."

"Rumlow said Pierce wanted to see Cap," Clint said. "You don't think-"

Before he could finish the thought, his cell rang shrilly in the silence of the National Mall. Clint swore in Arabic, a choice phrase he'd learned from Will, and pulled out his phone. The number was a SHIELD extension, but not one he recognized. "Barton," he answered shortly.

" _Agent Barton, it's Alexander Pierce. I need to meet with you."_

 _Oh hell._ "Sir?"Clint asked, mouthing _Pierce_ to Natasha, who sat up sharply. "When?"

" _ASAP_ ," Pierce responded, and cut the connection.

Clint put his phone away, and ran his hands over his face. "Well hell," he said. "This can't be good."

* * *

**The Triskelion  
3:35 A.M.**

Clint rode the elevator in silence, his mind racing. _What in the hell does Pierce want?_ He'd only spoken to the man above Nick Fury a handful of times and that had been with Fury and Tasha in the room.

The elevator paused at Pierce's penthouse office, and Clint pressed his hand against the biometric scanner impatiently. His fingers clenched in his other hand. Finally, the lock blinked green and Clint dropped his hand as the elevator door slid back.

Alexander Pierce cut an imposing figure. In his late 70s, his hair was still more blonde than gray, and he wore a perfectly-tailored navy blue suit jacket and red tie. He was standing in front of his floor-to-ceiling windows, the nighttime lights of DC filtering through the tinted glass.

Clint cleared his throat. "You wanted to see me, sir?" he asked.

Pierce turned slowly, clasping his hands behind his back. "Agent Barton," he greeted him. "Please," he gestured to his desk. Clint walked over and sat down.

"I understand you were at the hospital today when Director Fury was brought in," Pierce began, and the hairs on Clint's arms stood up instantly.

"Yes sir," he answered carefully. "Natasha-Agent Romanov-informed me that Director Fury had been brought to GW University Hospital with gunshot wounds." He kept it professional, like he was being debriefed on a mission.

"I'm sorry you had to be there," Pierce said. "I know Nick was particularly close with Strike Team Delta."

 _Not really_ , Clint thought. Fury'd done most of his talking through their handler, Phil Coulson. "I'm sorry too. Any word on the sonofabitch that shot him?" he asked, poking at Pierce to see what he knew.

"Agent Rumlow and his team are currently out looking," Pierce replied. "I haven't heard anything yet."

"Any chance he needs another set of eyes?" Clint asked.

Pierce smiled. "I appreciate the sentiment, Agent Barton. I actually have a different assignment for you," he explained.

Clint sat up a little straighter in his chair. "Yes, sir?"

"As I know you are aware, Nick Fury was at the residence of Captain Rogers when he was shot last night," Pierce said. Clint kept his facial features indifferent. "We believe that he gave Captain Rogers sensitive information before he was killed."

"Did Steve-sorry, Captain Rogers-tell you what it was?"

"He did not," Pierce said. "In fact, before we could question him, Captain Rogers assaulted Agent Rumlow and his team, and fled the Triskelion and is currently on the run."

 _Good job, Steve_. Yet, Clint's heart started beating faster. Was _Rumlow_ in on this too? _What in the hell is going on here?!_

"Agent Barton, I need you to find Captain Rogers and bring him in," Pierce ordered him.

Clint coughed. "I'm sorry- _what_?" he gasped. "You want me to-to hunt down Captain _America_ like a fugitive?"

Pierce nodded. "The Captain is in possession of sensitive SHIELD information that I can't allow to get into the wrong hands."

 _Tasha was right. Pierce thinks Steve's got those files._ "You're calling Captain America's hands the _wrong_ hands?" Clint couldn't believe what he was hearing. Something was…off. Something about this…if Steve ran from Pierce, if he didn't think whatever was on that drive belonged in Pierce's hands…

"The Captain has stolen information vital to the protection of America," Pierce replied. "As such, I am treating it like a case of treason, and the Captain needs to be brought in, by any means necessary." He handed Clint a small, metal dot. Clint studied it between his fingers.

"Body cam?" he clarified.

"Unfortunately, due to the Captain's…popularity…it is necessary to have documentation of any arrest," Pierce told him. "I expect you suited up and gone in the next five minutes."

Clint palmed the camera, stood up. "Yes, sir," he replied, hoping his tone wouldn't belie his pounding heart.

* * *

Three minutes later he was dressed in his combat boots, cargo pants and purple and black Kevlar vest. He slipped on his wrist and arm guards and stared at himself in the mirror. _Jesus. I'm about to go hunt down Captain America._ And what would he do when he caught him? "Pierce, can you hear me?" he asked, bending his head down to where the camera was placed on his vest.

He waited. No response. Obviously, Pierce only wanted video of the encounter-he'd question Steve later. _That might work to our advantage._ He slung his quiver over his back and kept a white-knuckled grip on his recurve as he went down to the garage and retrieved his bike. He looked at his watch: 4:30 am. He wracked his brains, trying to figure out where Steve might have gone after running from Pierce. Not his apartment; it was still a crime scene. Then, Clint had an idea and pulled over, slipping his phone from his back pocket and dialing Natasha.

" _What's up?"_ she asked him.

Clint hastily explained. "Look, I've got a camera, so I can't make this call long," he said, hopping off his bike as he pretended to check the tire pressure. "I need your help. Where's Steve?"

"Here," she replied, and there was a moment of silence before Steve's voice came on the line. " _Clint?"_ Steve's tired voice asked. " _What's going on_?"

"You're a freakin' fugitive, Cap," Clint responded. "And I'm coming to bring you in."

There was silence on the other end of the phone. Then, Steve said, " _Well, my day just keeps getting better and better."_

"Look, I've got an idea-" Clint trailed off as the familiar sound of a military-issue helicopter echoed in his ears above the conversation. "Cap, get to Rock Creek Park," Clint ordered, climbing back on his bike.

* * *

The helicopter thundered over his head, but Clint noticed as he sped up Connecticut Avenue that it didn't stray too far from him. _They're here to make sure I'm doing my job_ , he realized as he kicked the speedometer over 80, praying DC Metro wouldn't stop him. _Shit_. _Shitshitshit...I hope this works!_

The drive seemed to take forever, Clint's mind racing through the plan. The plan that he couldn't tell Cap-he'd have to make it look real. He turned, and his headlights illuminated a Harley Davidson Street in front of him, a blonde man in a leather jacket astride. Steve's eyes met his in the headlights.

Clint paused for a moment, listening for the chopper. Then, he revved the engine and took off, straight for Steve Rogers.

Steve, to his credit, didn't flinch, swinging the bike 180 degrees and tearing down the walking path, beside the road. Clint chased him farther into the park, the helicopter above him periodically illuminating the path. _You gotta let me catch up, Cap_ , Clint thought, wishing he had a superpower to communicate with the Avengers leader.

He gunned the engine, trying to match Cap's speed. Then, as his bike caught up behind Steve, Clint launched himself off the bike, reaching for Steve's back. He heard his Kawasaki crunch and squeal on the walking path as he grabbed Steve's collar and swung them off the bike. The Harley, unmanned, rode forward twenty feet, then wobbled, fell sideways, and skidded, sparks flying, before sliding off the walking path and into Rock Creek.

Clint and Steve rolled ass over teakettle into Rock Creek behind it, Clint landing on top of Steve, who hit the rocky bank hard. The wind knocked out of him, Steve gasped and Clint rolled off him, struggling to his feet in the shallow water. Steve got up, facing him.

Clint brought his hands up in a combat stance, one finger pointed to the body cam stuck to his tactical vest. Steve looked at him, and Clint knew he'd gotten the message. Above them, Clint heard the chopper hover, and his eyes darted for a stand of trees on the opposite side of the bank.

Clint took a breath, let it out, then stepped forward, taking a swing at Captain America. Steve evaded, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind him, lifting Clint's boots off the ground, forcing him to look up at Steve. _Make it look good_ , Clint mouthed.

Steve laid him out with one punch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The action in this chapter was based on a supposed deleted scene that was shot and exists somewhere (release the footage, Russos!) where Clint was indeed tasked to hunt down Cap.


	7. Chapter 7

**CIA Headquarters  
Langley, VA  
9:00 AM**

Will's foot was tapping idly on the carpet as Alan Hunley paced in front of him. After Clint had disappeared from the house yesterday, he hadn't heard anything. Desperate, Will had called Natasha, and then even Steve, on the special phone number his brother had given him, but no one was answering.

 _Clint, where the hell are you?_ He tried to push past the worry for his brother, and tried to tune back into what Hunley was yelling in his ear.

"…Less than 24 hours after we interview Dunn, he's on a plane to Vienna, and within six hours of his arrival, the Chancellor of Austria is _dead_!" Hunley slammed his hands down on the top of the table, and Will couldn't help it, he jumped. He was on edge. First Ethan, now Benji… _and now Clint_ …

He took a moment to still his heart, then said carefully, "Consider, for the moment…maybe Ethan's investigation led him to the opera?" _His investigation into the Syndicate, which does exist but you don't believe it does….Clint…where the hell did you go?_

"Whatever the case," Hunley told him, "finding Hunt is no longer a pet project." Hunley walked over to Will and stood behind him. "The Special Activities Division will have full discretion."

 _Special Ac-_ "Shoot to _kill_?" Will couldn't hide the shock in his eyes or voice. Ethan was no longer a fugitive…Ethan was a _target_.

Hunley's voice was smooth as he answered, "Whether Hunt lives or dies….is entirely up to him."

Before Will's mind could even begin to process what Hunley had just laid out…his phone started to buzz in his pocket. He picked it out, saw Clint's number on the lock screen. "I need to take this," he told Hunley, brushing past him as he jogged from the room.

 _Oh shit, and now he's going to think this is Ethan, which is going to paint an even bigger target on our backs…_ "Where the _hell_ have you been?" Will hissed at his brother as he ducked into one of the bathrooms. "Mom hardly said a word yesterday, and I'm pretty sure there's still fingernail grooves in my hand-"

" _Shut up for a second and listen,"_ Clint cut in, his voice sharp. Will clammed up immediately. _"Fury's dead. Steve Rogers is on the run, and I'm pretty sure my boss is the one who set it all up_." Quickly, Clint outlined the past 24 hours.

"Jesus, are you okay? Where are you _now_?" Will demanded.

" _Can't talk long, I'm sure they'll trace this when they realize that I'm not coming in for a debrief and I tossed the camera. I'm hoping they decided to go after Steve with the chopper and not worry about my unconscious ass_."

"We've really stepped in it, brother," Will said, leaning his head against the mirror. He relayed Hunley's shoot to kill order. "It'll probably apply to Benji too, since they've both gone off book."

" _Sounds like we both need to lay low for awhile_ ," Clint said.

"Yeah, that's not gonna happen when I've got Alan Hunley in my back pocket," Will replied.

A germ of an idea began to form. Will stared at himself in the mirror. "Clint," he began. "Can you meet me somewhere, say, in like…a half hour?"

There was a pause. Then, _"Text me the address."_

* * *

**Washington Sailing Marina  
Alexandria, VA**

Will tapped his foot impatiently, a tic he was starting to hate, as he leaned up against his vehicle. _Don't do this to me, man…I need your help…_

A shadow fell over him, and he looked up to see Luther Stickell, go bag in hand. The two men stared at each other for a moment, the tension palpable. Will hadn't spoken to Luther since Belarus. Rather than work for the CIA, Luther had turned in his resignation, but Will was sure that Luther knew most of what was happening. Luther always seemed to be in the right place at the right time.

"Good to see you," Will said finally.

"What couldn't you tell me over the phone?" Luther asked flatly.

 _Okay…let's get down to it._ "The chancellor of Austria was assassinated. We think…no, I _know_ …Ethan and Benji were there. Hunley gave this over to the Special Activities Division. We _need_ to find Ethan before they do," Will explained. He nodded to the bigger man. "That's where you come in."

Luther's response was immediate. "Not interested."

Will opened his mouth to argue, but Luther stepped closer to him, and it shut him up instantly. "I know Ethan," Luther told him. He eyed him. "I don't know _you_. All I know about _you_ is that _you_ chose to work for Hunley."

"I-"

Luther held up a hand. "You won't have to worry about Ethan. They'll never find him."

The stress of the past few days finally got to Will, and Will exploded, "No," he agreed. "No, this is the CIA," he said. "Things are out of control. They're not just going to find him, no, they're going to _kill_ him. And Benji. We- _you_ \- have to get to them first. Are you going to help me or not?"

"You need to understand something," Luther said calmly. "Ethan is my friend. If I have one _second_ of doubt whose side you're on-"

"Yeah well, you won't have to worry about it," Will cut in. "Because I'm not going with you."

Luther paused.

"Look, somebody's gotta stay here and monitor Hunley and his SAD team. I haven't been in the field since Mumbai, okay? You don't trust me, and I understand." Will took a step away from Luther, leaned against the car again. "The fact is, there's a lot of crazy _shit_ happening around here, and while I would love to be in two places at once, I can't so…"

Clint Barton climbed out of the driver's seat of the car. "So I'm coming with you." He offered a hand to Luther as he came around the hood. "Clint Barton."

Luther blinked, looking at them. "There's two of you?" he groaned, looking at Will.

"No, there's only one of me," Clint grinned.

* * *

The three of them hunkered down over Will's laptop, the bright sun of the marina beating down on their backs. Luther, Clint noticed, kept staring between the two brothers periodically, and mumbling something to himself in what sounded like Russian. The big man was _not_ happy with the situation, but both Brandt brothers knew that their time and options were limited, and Luther knew it too.

"So how do we find them before Hunley does?" Clint asked, trying to break the tension. Luther was bent over the laptop, catching up on the intel that Will had been collecting.

"I'm not looking for them," Luther said after a moment. "I'm looking for _her_." He stepped back from the computer, pointed at a pencil drawing that had been on the wall in Havana. Luther eyed Will. "What do you _see,_ Mr. Analyst?"

Will took the barb in stride. He studied the woman's sketch. Clint came over and hovered over his brother's shoulder, watching him work. Will was trained to notice details. "Details in the eyes, he put a lot of work into that. No hesitation marks, no eraser lines. Lots of detail in the face…" He compared it to the drawing of the man in glasses. "Little detail, quick outline. Care enough so that we should know what he looks like, but not enough detail committed to memory that we should focus on him…" Will looked up at his brother and Luther. "Ethan _knows_ her. Trusts her."

"I'm betting that if he isn't already with her, he's on his way," Luther agreed. "So. Find her, find Ethan."

"Can you pull facial recognition off a sketch?" Clint asked, and Luther just smiled, turning the laptop around.

"Found her. CCTV picked her up at the airport in Casablanca, Morocco. Ilsa Faust. British Intelligence." The three men read her file…and all three cringed at the bright red letters under her picture.

DISAVOWED.

"She's bad news," Will breathed.

"We need to get to Morocco," Clint said. He looked at Luther. "Can you get us plane tickets that fast?" he asked him.

"Okay, so, you guys go to Morocco. Find Ethan and Benji. I'll…I'll stay here and try to stall Hunley." Will's mind was racing. He looked at Clint. "Watch your back," he said. "With everything going on…"

"Getting out of the country will be a good start," Clint replied. "If you hear from Tasha or Steve-"

"You're my first phone call." Will clapped his brother on the back. "Take care of my team," he told Clint.

"Promise," Clint said. Will pulled his laptop off the trunk as Luther and Clint drove off to the airport, and let out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

* * *

**Casablanca, Morocco  
16 Hours Later**

Clint had never been to Casablanca. As he waited for Luther to come back with their rental vehicle, he wished he had time to appreciate the city. Instead, he was committing Ethan Hunt and Benji Dunn's images to memory, along with Ilsa Faust's, so that he could find them.

In a city of 3.3 million people.

 _No pressure_ , he thought.

Luther pulled up in an off-white Land Rover. The vehicle was almost taller than Clint. Clint gave it a once over.

"Discreet," he said finally, and Luther snorted.

The two of them pulled into traffic and were soon driving through the midst of Casablanca. The architecture and sky gave off an eerie yellow glow as they drove. "This is crazy," Clint said as Luther navigated the roads. "I thought you said you could find him?"

"I did," Luther shrugged. "He's in Casablanca." He looked at Clint sideways. "You're The Amazing Hawkeye, aren't you? Use your eyes."

Clint coughed. "Listen, Luther, I'm starting to see why my brother doesn't like you mu-"

A silver car shot out of an alleyway right in front of them, and Luther had to slam on the brakes. Clint's head nearly hit the dash of the big Land Rover. Then, his eyes widened.

Ethan Hunt was staring back at him from the other vehicle…with a terrified Benji Dunn in the passenger seat.

Before Clint or Luther could say anything, Ethan had thrown the car into reverse and was backing away from them, kicking up sand and dust through the open window as he roared off, two motorcycles hot on their trail.

Clint looked at Luther with a smirk. "Found 'em."


	8. Chapter 8

"What are you waitin' for?" Clint asked Luther. He gestured out the window at the disappearing BMW. "Let's go get 'em!"

Luther threw the Land Rover into reverse. The big vehicle slammed into a parked car behind them. Clint grimaced. Luther shoved the stick into drive and gunned it, cranking the wheel. He only succeeded in crashing into a truck.

Clint raised an eyebrow. "You flunked parallel parking in Drivers Ed, didn't you."

Luther took one hand off the wheel long enough to flip him off. He revved the engine, pushing the truck out of the way to give him space, then stepped on the gas. It leapt forward….as quickly as a 4x4 on a dirt side road could.

Clint snickered. "It's a high speed chase, and you rented us a 4x4!"

"Hey, IMF doesn't exactly have the big budget that SHIELD does," Luther countered.

"SHIELD's budget is currently controlled by a secret Nazi faction, and I thought you said there _was_ no more IMF!" Clint shot back. "Come on, this thing _has_ to go faster than this!"

Luther didn't take his eyes off the road as he responded, "You want me to pull over so _you_ can drive?"

Clint had never been to Casablanca. It was a city he would've liked to spend some more time in but right now, it was whipping past him as Luther trailed the people chasing Ethan and Benji through a market, taking a corner on two wheels. "Left!" Clint yelled as the procession careened past a mosque. The streets were crooked, every turn was a gamble as to whether or not there'd be a market, a major highway, or a housing development right in front of them. The chase went from the street to a sidewalk as Ethan tried to lose the motorcycles. Clint couldn't tell who was good and who was bad on the motorcycles, and swerved to avoid a body as one tumbled off a bike in front of him.

"This won't end well," Luther muttered as the BMW disappeared, nose down. The Rover kept pace, and they crested the top of a staircase in time to see Ethan and Benji's car go back end over front end, flip over, and land _hard_ on the roof. The motorcycles sped past, but circled back. It's rider got off and pulled out a gun. "Luther!" Clint yelled, pointed. Luther put the pedal on the floor and drove into the shooter, bowling him over and coming to an abrupt stop.

Clint was out of the vehicle before Luther had it in park. He crouched down next to the driver's side window and peered at an upside-down Ethan Hunt.

"Hi. Not sure if you remember me," he grinned.

Ethan frowned. "Will?"

Clint sighed. "Should've seen that one coming," he acknowledged. "No, man, it's Clint. You okay?"

Before Ethan could answer, Clint heard Benji scream. "Look out!" Clint looked up in alarm, pulling his gun, only to realize that nothing was wrong and Benji…well, Benji was just fine.

Clint came around to his side as Luther helped pull Ethan out. Benji was flailing in his seatbelt. Clint grabbed his shoulder and Benji stopped instantly, taking a moment to get his bearings. He blinked, looking into Clint's eyes. "What'd I miss?" he gasped out.

"Nothing much," Clint laughed. "How's it goin' Benj? Will says hi."

His brother's best friend squinted. "Wha…oh! Hawkeye, wow." Benji shook his head. "What, ah, what are you-"

A squeal of an engine made them both stop, and Clint stood up quickly to see Luther diving away from Ethan, who had taken the bent, but still functional, bike of the man Luther'd hit earlier, and was speeding away.

"Where the hell is _he_ going?" Clint demanded. The Avenger and Luther both stared at the cloud of dust.

"Hey…guys?" Benji's voice spoke up timidly from near their shoes. "Still…stuck in car…"

* * *

Clint pointed to an adobe building just off the highway. "There. That's the address." Ethan had called Benji from a pay phone after taking off after Ilsa Faust. Luther parked the Land Rover and he, Clint, and Benji got out. Clint warily led the way, through the arched doorways and into a shadowed café. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light and he spotted Ethan in the back. Will's boss looked like hell. There was red Moroccan dirt in his hair and all over his gaudy Hawaiian shirt. Clint could see where he'd tried (and failed) to clean up some cuts and bruises.

The news was grim. Ilsa had gotten away with the disk they needed. The four men sat in silence for a moment, Luther breaking it by asking, "So..what do we do now?"

Ethan turned his head slowly to Benji. After a moment, he spoke. "Please tell me….you made a copy of that disk."

Benji looked at him, and nodded with a grim smile. "Of course I made a copy," he told Ethan. Ethan returned the grin painfully.

Clint shook his head. "Someone gonna tell me what's on this disk?"

"Not here," Ethan said. He moved to stand, faltered a bit. He dropped one hand to the table to steady himself.

"Okay then," Clint sighed. And he thought Nick Fury was cryptic…. _Was…_ The thought made his chest tighten, but he forced himself to look at his brother's IMF team. "So…where're we going, then?"

"London."

Clint blinked. "London. England. I mean, Morocco was a little off grid but _London_? You don't think the CIA and MI6 are like this?" He crossed two fingers. "They'll catch us at Heathrow before we even get off the Airbus."

"We've got a way in," Ethan explained. He looked pointedly at Will. "We just need a place to lay low once we get there."

"I don't know if you've heard," Clint began, "but SHIELD has been overrun by Nazis. I can't exactly ask them for help…" He trailed off. "But I know someone I _can_."

* * *

**London, England  
Safehouse**

Clint keyed the access code and the door slid back. "Tasha used to use this when she was working for the KGB," he explained. "There were only three people in the world that knew about this."

"You and Natasha," Benji guessed. Clint nodded.

"And one more." His tone indicated that was all he was willing to say, and Benji clammed up. "Anyway, shower's down that way. I've got a change of clothes or two, I think, somewhere in the bedroom."

"Wifi?" Benji asked.

"Pilfer it off the Internet café downstairs," Clint told him. "Just don't be on it long."

He leaned up against the window, pulled out his phone and dialed, staring out over the gray and rainy city. It was a far cry from the relentless sun and red dust of Casablanca. "Hey, little brother," he greeted when the line clicked open.

" _Clint_? _Thank God. Did you find Ethan? Is he okay?"_

"More or less," Clint said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Ethan's pretty banged up."

" _No surprise_ ," Will laughed humorlessly. " _So what's going on?_

Clint glanced over his shoulder to see Luther inserting a small flash drive into Benji's laptop. "No clue, man," he said. "How're things back home?

" _Well, you know,"_ Will sighed. " _Hunley's on the warpath_. _Oh, and there's warrants out for Captain America."_

"Awesome," Clint proclaimed sarcastically Behind him, he heard raised voices. "Hang on a sec, Will." He covered the mouthpiece on his phone and turned around.

"It's a red box," Luther was explaining.

"A huh what?" Clint asked. The three IMF agents turned at his voice, remembering he was there.

"The British government uses them to transport state secrets," Benji explained.

" _Is he talking about a red box?" Will asked over the phone. "Clint?"_

Luther slapped the table. "It's triple encrypted. I'm not getting in without fingerprints, a retinal scan, and a voice phrase spoke by a specific individual."

"How specific?" Clint asked. He looked over at Ethan.

Ethan's tone was oddly calm. "The Prime Minister of Great Britain."

" _Oh, of course,"_ Will groaned. Clint hid a smile as his brother started swearing in Arabic on the other end of the line.

"So," Clint said, cutting into his tirade, "let me get this straight. You guys have no ledger sooo, no proof that the Syndicate exists. Which puts you back at square one, wanted by the CIA." Will's swearing picked up, this time in Russian. "Will's very proud of you."

"That's who's on the phone? Hey, Will," Benji called from his place on the couch.

Clint shook his head. "Not real talkative right now, Benj."

"What I don't understand is why there's a red box in a private data vault in Morocco?" Luther wanted to know.

" _And why the hell would Lane want it if he can't open it?"_ Will asked over the phone. Clint gave up trying to run interference and put his brother on speaker.

"Oh, you can bet if he wants it, he's got a plan to open it," Ethan said. "And we just helped him steal it."

It dawned on Will the same time it did Clint. "He's gonna take the Prime Minister," the two of them said together.

Ethan nodded. "Yeah," he confirmed. "The question is…how?"

" _We need to warn the British government. MI6."_

"No way that works, Will," Clint countered. "MI6 is _not_ going to believe three rogue IMF, or CIA, or _whatever_ alphabet you guys are working for, and they definitely won't believe _me_!"

" _Guys, Lane is going to kidnap the Prime Minister!"_ Will stressed.

"No."

The argument ceased as Ethan spoke up. Clint's eyes followed Ethan as he paced the room.

" _What's he doing?"_ Will asked Clint.

Clint watched him. "Pacing," he replied.

" _Oh hell,"_ Will said. " _That's never a good thing. That means whatever he's planning is a horrible idea."_

"Like climbing the world's tallest building," Benji added.

"We're gonna find Lane, _before_ he takes the Prime Minister," Ethan explained.

Clint heard his brother snort on the other end of the line. " _Okay…and how exactly are we gonna do that?_ "

"I think I know," Benji said, spinning the laptop around. The laptop was beeping, and Benji was pointing…at a grainy CCTV photo of Ilsa Faust.


	9. Chapter 9

**London  
King's Cross Station**

"So that's her?" Clint asked Benji, eyeing the good-looking brunette striding across the concourse in a black peacoat and heels.

" _That's her_ ," Benji confirmed. He offered Ilsa Faust a wave.

Clint appraised her. "She's cute," he decided. "Looks like she hasn't slept in awhile, but when you're jetsetting around the world stealing secret ledgers…."

" _Anything else you see_ , _Hawkeye_?" Luther cut in.

Clint glanced over Ethan's shoulder to where Luther was standing by a pay phone. "Yeah," he said with a grin. "You look fake as hell on that payphone. Nobody uses those anymore except old spies…. _ohhhh_."

He didn't miss Luther flipping him off, his hand near his thigh. Clint grinned as he listened to Ethan and Ilsa's conversation. The crowded terminal would normally have made it hard to hear, but the earpieces made it seem like they were right next to him. The two of them sat down at a small table, and Clint settled in against the support pillar he was standing by to listen in.

"I have to say, you sure can ride," Ethan began with a small smile.

"Ethan-"

"You were just doing your job. That's all we're gonna say about it," he cut her off.

Her tone held a hint of amusement. "Atlee said you would understand."

"Atlee." Ethan said it as a statement. "Your handler in British Intelligence? He didn't bring you in…even after you gave him the disk."

"You knew perfectly well it was blank."

Clint caught the widening of Ethan's eyes, the slight drop of his jaw. "Say _what_ now?" Clint whispered.

" _Ah, that's a lie_!" Benji cut in. " _The disk she took from me was an exact copy, I know it was_!"

Ethan's tone was matter-of-fact, like the revelation was something he'd been expecting. "Was it in your possession the entire time?" he was asking Ilsa. Clint caught her head tilt, the slight slump of her shoulders.

"This isn't going well," he muttered into his comm.

"They don't care if you live or die," Ilsa was telling Ethan. "But you _knew_ I was going to take it to him."

Ethan nodded. "I hoped you would. I hoped it'd be enough to get you out."

Benji's voice was incredulous as he realized what was going on. " _Whoa…that means Lane doesn't have the disk! Only we do_!"

"I have a question," Clint spoke up. He was no stranger to intel gathering. This was a screw-up, a colossal screw up that a rookie would make in some lower organization. But she was an MI-6 agent working undercover in a shadow organization… "If the disk was blank…why is she still alive?"

The realization hit him. "Unless of course, Lane _wanted_ us to find her." Instantly, he was on edge. His fingers twitched, and he wished he was up on a catwalk somewhere with his bow, instead of down here in all these people. His gaze instantly started sweeping the crowd. The place was packed. He'd told Nick Fury once he saw better from a distance, and this was why. A bird's eye view made it so much easier to pick people out. People who were acting suspicious.

"So who you working for now?" Ethan asked Ilsa.

Ilsa ignored the question. "Lane, Atlee, your government, my government, they're all the same. We only think we're fighting for the right side because that's what we choose to believe."

"So where's that leave us?" Ethan wondered.

"The way I see it, you have three choices. One, you hand me and the disk over to the CIA. I am proof the Syndicate exists. Lane becomes their problem, your work is done-"

" _My thoughts exactly,_ " Luther agreed.

" _Works for me_ ," Benji seconded.

Ilsa continued, "But you know they won't believe you, and you'll all be tried for treason, and Lane will go free."

"She's got a point," Clint said, one eye on the crowd, on eye on Ethan and Ilsa. _Damn it. This is why I let Natasha do the people thing while I stay buried in the rafters!_

"Two," Ilsa ticked off her fingers. "You let me walk away to an uncertain fate. Use the disk to trap Lane…but some part of you suspects you've met your match. But part of you is a gambler, and you might end up handing Lane that disk whether you want to or not."

" _That's entirely possible_ ," Clint heard Benji say. And Clint knew Ethan well enough to know that it was a risk his brother's team leader would absolutely take.

"And three?" Ethan asked her.

Ilsa's voice dropped. "Come away with me. Right now."

" _Oh boy_ ," Clint heard Luther mutter under his breath.

"What about Lane?"

"Forget about Lane. There'll always be another Lane. Always be people like us to face him. We've done our part and we've been cast aside. We can be anyone, do anything. It's only a matter of going."

Clint saw the almost imperceptible shift in Ethan's shoulders, his voice harden from its' conversational tone. "Lane sent you to deliver a message, didn't he." It wasn't a question and the IMF agent was instantly on edge.

"I saved your life twice," Ilsa reminded him. "I won't be able to do it again."

"What's the message?"

Clint saw Ilsa slide something across the table to him. Then, feedback ripped through Clint's ear, and he pressed his hands to the side of his head, grimacing. _Where the hell did that come from_? he wondered, his ears ringing. He ripped the earpiece out, the screeching still echoing in his skull.

"Check in!" Ethan's voice ordered over the comm as the signal cleared.

" _I'm good_ ," Luther's baritone sounded over the comm.

"Yeah, same," Clint acknowledged, his eyes catching Ethan's across the room, spotting Luther about halfway down. Then, he swung his head around to face Benji-

Benji was nowhere to be found. _No!_ Ethan had been right; Ilsa _had_ send a message.

_It was a setup!_ _They got Benji!_

Clint swore and slammed his fist into the pillar. He'd promised Will that he'd take care of his team, and now he was gonna have to explain to his brother that he'd lost his best friend…

"Clint!" Ethan's voice sounded over the connection. Clint snapped to attention and saw Ethan running toward him across the terminal, a cell phone in hand. He wordlessly handed Clint the phone. Someone was pushing Benji into the trunk of a car. Clint tensed as the trunk slammed shut and Benji's abductor got into the passenger seat. He gave the camera a wink, and the feed cut out.

"Who the hell was that?" Clint demanded.

"Janik Vitner. Goes by the name The Bone Doctor."

"Parking garage," Ethan realized, and took off. "Luther, stay with llsa!" he yelled as he pulled Clint into a run. Clint took off after him, pushing through the crowd.

"What kind of car?" Clint asked breathlessly as they picked their way through the train station.

"Black, van," Ethan replied, skidding on the tile and heading for the escalator. Clint followed, both of them eschewing the actual stairs in favor of running down the black rails in the middle. Clint's boots hit the ground and he bolted out the doors labeled CAR PARK, Ethan hot on his heels. The two of them hit the cement floor just in time to see a black van peel out past the gate, and out into the street.

" _Damn it_!" Ethan kicked a concrete support beam. "They're gone."

"She's gone, I lost her!" Luther came to a stop parallel with them, out of breath.

"She set you up, Ethan," Clint told him, running a hand through his hair. _Oh shit. Will's going to murder me._

"No, she delievered a message," Ethan disagreed, but Clint was livid.

All the frustration over _everything_ that had happened in the past four days boiled over. _First Will, then Cap, now_ this _!_ "She set _us_ up! She knew this would happen!" Clint exploded.

"Only Lane knows what's gonna happen!" Ethan yelled back, but Clint wasn't listening. _Will, I'm sorry, I lost Benji to some guy who doesn't even exist because_ Ethan _couldn't get past his little vendetta and walked us right into a damn setup!_

He almost missed the ringing phone, echoing softly in the parking garage. He stopped pacing long enough to look at Ethan. Ethan had the phone to his ear. "I'm listening," he barked shortly. Then, "I accept." He ended the call, his fist clenched. For a moment, Clint thought he was going to throw the phone.

Clint met his eyes. "He wants the disk. Unlocked, by midnight tonight," Ethan said shortly.

Clint ran a hand down his face. "Of course he does."

"Ethan, there's only one person on earth who can unlock that disk," Luther reminded him.

Ethan's tone was grim. "We have to take the Prime Minister."

Clint raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, let's think about that for a minute," he started, but Ethan cut him off.

"It's the only way to get Benji back."

Clint swore. "Ethan, that's _what_ Lane wants you to do!"

Ethan looked him in the eye. "Which is why it has to happen." He looked over to Luther. "This is how we beat Lane. This is how we make everything right."

Clint shook his head. "This is…this is _fucking_ crazy." He raised his eyes to the ceiling. "No wonder my brother has gray hair." He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. _Shit…Will…_ He looked at Ethan. "I need to make a phone call."

Ethan nodded.

* * *

**Washington, DC**

William Brandt picked the phone up on the first ring, his eyes watching Alan Hunley in his office. "Clint," he greeted his brother. "Have you kidnapped the Prime Minister yet?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone. Then, Clint said, " _Will…it's about "Benji…"_

Will nearly dropped the phone. " _What?!_ " he demanded in a whisper, trying to keep his voice down so that Hunley didn't look his direction. "Clint, what the _hell_ is going on over there?"

* * *

**London**

Clint pinched the bridge of his nose as he paced the safe house. "We met Ilsa at King's Cross…it was a setup. Lane's guys…they kidnapped Benji."

" _You were supposed to keep an eye on my team, Clint!"_ Will hissed at him. " _How could you let this happen,_ Hawk _eye?"_ He said Clint's codename like an insult, and Clint couldn't even be upset.

"Look, I'm sorry, Will!" he told his brother. "We're working on a plan to get him back-"

" _Shit, Benji hasn't been a field agent that long. He's not like Ethan, or Luther, or hell, even me!"_ Clint bit his lip and shook his head. _Damn it all to hell_. His brother continued, " _What does Lane want with him?"_

"Not him," Clint said, watching Ethan and Luther plot in a corner. "It's the flashdrive we recovered. Ilsa made a copy, but then it was erased somewhere along the line. Now Ethan's got the only proof the Syndicate exists, and Lane wants us to decrypt our copy by midnight tonight or….Benji's dead."

Will sucked in a breath on the other end of the phone. _"Jesus_ ," he said. " _Except there's only one way to decrypt that thing…"_

Clint nodded on his end. "Yeah. Ethan's working on the logistics of that right now. Look, little brother, I think you need to bring Hunley on this." He lowered his voice. "'Cause despite what Ethan tells us, I think he's pissed Lane's beaten him at every turn, and he's not thinking straight."

" _You really think that?"_ Will said quietly on the other end.

Clint grinned. "Not half as much as Alan Hunley will," he said. Then, as an afterthought. "Hey, Will? Have you heard anything…you know, about Cap? Or Natasha?"

There was silence on the end of the phone. " _No,"_ Will replied. " _They're still running tiplines if anybody sees Steve out there, but I haven't heard anything."_ He was quiet again for a moment. " _We really stepped in it this time, huh, Clint."_

Clint nodded. "Yeah, no shit. The world's really gone to hell. Look, I'm gonna do whatever it takes on my end to get Benji back in one piece. You need to go to Hunley. Tell him Ethan's plan. Get him to London." He sighed. "And be careful, little brother."

* * *

**Washington, DC**

" _Be careful, little brother."_

Will glanced up at the door across the hall. His heart was pounding. "Yeah," he said absently, his mind furiously trying to work up a story to tell Hunley. "You too." He hung up, closed his eyes. _Get Benji back, Clint._ Then, he stood, squared his shoulders, and pounded on Hunley's door. Without waiting for permission, he opened the door and let it slide shut behind him.

"What do you want, Brandt?" Hunley asked from across his desk.

Will shook his head. "Look, I'm only talkin' to you because I have no other choice. I'm trying to prevent a catastrophe."

Hunley raised an eyebrow. "Because that's been going so well so far," he pointed out.

Will was _not_ in the mood for Hunley's attitude. "Ethan's in London."

Hunley's face went from tired to interested. "Where in London?" he asked.

"I'll tell you when we're in the air. Not before," Will said. "I'm coming with you."

"I'm not interested in playing games, Brandt," Hunley growled.

"And _I'm_ not interested in seeing my friends get killed." He felt a pang in his chest, forced himself to glare at Hunley. "So if I'm gonna betray them, it's gonna be on my terms, and no one else's." He leaned across Hunley's desk, stared him in the eye. "Understand?"

The two men stared at each other, sizing each other up. Hunley reached for the phone, his eyes never leaving Will. He spoke into the phone. "I need the jet."


	10. Chapter 10

The sun was just starting to set behind the London Eye when Clint found Ethan on the roof of the safehouse. He was on the phone, his face etched with a pained expression. He heard Clint and held up a hand; the other was holding his phone to his ear. Clint stepped up beside him, and Ethan held the phone away from his ear, long enough for Clint to hear the end of the conversation.

" _-Keep your phone on. Instructions will follow."_

The line went dead and Ethan flicked the phone shut, his hand in a white-knuckle grip around it like he wanted to crush it.

Clint nodded to his hand. "Might wanna ease up. That ain't a Nokia."

After a moment, Ethan let up. Clint joined him in staring out on the horizon. "So. We got a plan?" The IMF agent said nothing, crossing his arms and leaning against the roof ledge. "I mean, I only ask 'cause I promised my little brother that I wouldn't get Benji killed, so, you know, I'd kinda like to know we've got something that at least _resembles_ a plan. I'd rather not go half-cocked on this." He sighed. "Unlike the rest of this mission."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ethan asked.

Clint kept his eyes forward. "This one got to you. It's obvious," he told him. "Will can see it all the way back in Washington, and I can see it right now. The way you left us behind in Casablanca? The way we didn't plan for a double-cross at King's Cross?"

Ethan turned to him now, his eyes flashing. "There's no way we could've known Ilsa-"

"Because you know her?" Clint challenged. "Because the woman who nicked the red box from you and kicked your ass in a motorcycle rally can _totally_ be trusted?" His voice was laced with sarcasm. "This whole thing all along has been _you_ against the Syndicate. It's been one screw-up after another! Because _you're_ not thinking with a clear head."

Ethan opened his mouth but Clint pressed on. "Look, I know better than anybody what it feels like to be emotionally involved in a mission, okay? New York…now this…" Clint clenched a fist.

Ethan took advantage of the silence. "You didn't have to come along for this, Clint," he reminded him.

Clint was seething. _Ohhhh…_. "Yeah, I did," Clint disagreed. "I don't know what's waiting for me when I get home, okay? My boss, _my boss_ , sent me to bring in Captain-freaking-America on treason charges!" He stared at Ethan. "You're not the only one with an alphabet group comin' after you!"

Ethan was silent. Clint had struck a nerve. "I don't think you realize everything that's happening with your _team_ back home because you're too busy looking for the guy who one-upped the great Ethan Hunt!" Clint stuck a finger in Ethan's chest. "So you'd better tell me you've got a _fucking_ plan; because you are _not_ dragging me, or Benji, or _Will_ down with you!" He stepped back, crossing his arms. "Especially not me; I've got too much of my own damn trouble. I told Will I'd look out for his team, so that's _my_ mission." He raised an eyebrow. "Benji's clock is ticking. So you tell me what else you've got besides kidnapping the PM of Great Britain _right_ now."

Ethan was silent. Then, "Your brother always said you were a terrifying sonofabitch."

Clint smirked. "You should meet my partner."

"I've met your partner," Ethan countered. He gave him a small smile, then turned serious. "You didn't see the look in her eye, Clint," he told him. "Ilsa. When Benji went missing. I don't think she knew."

Clint studied him. His brother wasn't the only person in the family trained to read people. Even if it was misguided, Ethan trusted this woman. Clint sighed. "Okay," he shrugged.

"That's it?" Ethan sounded surprised. "Just 'okay'?"

"You were looking her in the eye," Clint said. "And you _do_ know her better than anybody," he shrugged. "As much as one can know a disavowed MI-6 agent on the run I guess. Look, despite what I constantly tell my brother, I _do_ think you're a pretty damn good secret agent," he told him. "And this is your turf. So, if you're gonna tell me that this's the only way to get Benji back, then, well, I'm on board."

"I can't see any other way," Ethan admitted.

Clint was quiet for a moment. Then, he looked Ethan in the eye. "Neither can I. And we do what we have to for our friends, right? So…what do you need me to do?"

* * *

**Blenheim Palace  
Oxfordshire, England**

For the first time in weeks, Clint Barton felt right at home. The archer crouched on a rooftop, surveying the open square of Blenheim as people milled about in tuxes and fancy dresses. Luther had managed to get the Prime Minister's schedule and revealed him to be coming to a charity ball. Security detail would be at a minimum. His eyes scanned the crowds, watching the Rolls Royces and Bentleys and BMWs dropping off passengers, taking down license plates and memorizing faces.

"No sign of him just yet," he reported into his earpiece. Ethan and Luther were already inside. Clint watched the courtyard. Then, he grinned as a familiar face got out of a BMW. "Well, hello little brother," he said, knowing Will wasn't tuned into his frequency. Will Brandt had arrived with Alan Hunley in tow. "Pieces are falling into place," he announced. Then, a motorcade escorted by two policemen on motorcycles pulled up and Clint narrowed his eyes. "Jaguar. Armored plates. The PM just rolled up, guys." He watched as the PM got out, waving to the crowd of press nearby, his wife (girlfriend? Clint couldn't remember. Natasha would've known...). His security detail ushered him into the building.

* * *

Will's eyes scanned the rooftops looking for his brother. He knew Clint would be up there somewhere.

Alan Hunley caught him looking. "Looking for the Syndicate?" he said. "You know what they say about paranoia."

"Yeah," Will said, returning his gaze to his boss. "Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're _not_ out to get you."

Hunley rolled his eyes. Will ignored him. Just then, the earpiece he was wearing activated. " _Hey little brother. Fashionably late."_

Will forced himself to keep walking. " _Ethan and Luther are already inside,_ " Clint told him on the frequency.

"Ethan is inside," Will said aloud to Hunley. "I need your reassurance that he'll stay alive," he added.

Hunley ignored him. "Did you bother to inform the British government that Hunt is trying to take the Prime Minister?"

" _Where would be the fun in that?"_ Clint grinned from his perch.

Will stuck to his demands. "I will help you take Ethan, and Luther Stickell, if necessary, alive. That's the deal."

"You picked up some terrible habits from your friend, Brandt, the worst of them being that you think you still can control any outcome," Hunley said. Then, before Will could say anything, Hunley was striding over to where MI-6 Chief Atlee was visiting with the Prime Minister.

" _I can take him if you want,"_ Clint offered. Will glanced around at the rooftops again. He caught the glint of a scope bouncing back and forth like it was waving hello.

"Shut up, Clint," he said. "Any idea what they're saying?"

" _Yeah, Hunley's telling Atlee that there may or may not be somebody here to kidnap the PM,"_ Clint said, watching through his scope.

Will nodded. "Good."

" _You sell out,_ " Clint teased him.

"Shut up," Will muttered back. He followed Hunley and Atlee inside and settled in at the back of the room. The auctioneer was just beginning her first bid of the evening. Hunley left Atlee and motioned for Will to follow him to a room off to the side of the hall. They entered what looked to be an old dining room. Will waited with Hunley in awkward silence. A few minutes later, the doors opened and the Prime Minister of Great Britain entered, flanked by Atlee and two security detail. Atlee spoke to the two men at the door. "Under no circumstances is anyone to enter," he instructed, then closed the door on them.

Will heard Clint's smirk from outside. " _Too bad I don't need to enter to actually do anything,_ " Clint grinned from up on the roof, looking through the floor to ceiling windows inside to where his brother was standing. " _All clear._ "

Will took a breath. _Here we go._

* * *

The Prime Minister, to his credit, seemed remarkably calm when Alan Hunley informed him that there was a threat on his life. Clint watched through the window as the man leaned forward in his chair, obviously listening, but not really all that terribly concerned.

Clint put the sight of his bow between his eyes, just for fun. _"Guy has no idea_ ," he whispered to his brother inside the room.

* * *

Will held back a smirk and returned his attention to Hunley, who had just brought his name up in the conversation. "…a former colleague of Hunt's. He came forward with firsthand knowledge of the plot against you."

 _Go time._ "Sir, Hunt is in possession of a virtual red box," he explained. "One that can only be opened by you. He believes it is the key to bring down the Syndicate."

At that final word, the Prime Minister's demeanor changed. It was subtle, but for Brandt, someone trained to watch people and analyze their moves, it was a total red flag. "The Syndicate, you say?" His voice was a deadly whisper.

"Yes, sir," Will confirmed. "That's what he calls it."

"Atlee…" The Prime Minister turned a stony glare to the head of MI6. "He couldn't possibly be talking about _that_ Syndicate." It wasn't a question. "Because you _assured_ me that _that_ Syndicate was merely an exercise."

 _He's furious_ , Will knew. And Atlee was in a world of trouble.

"It _was,"_ Atlee replied, his voice pitching ever slightly higher.

"Yet here is the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency indicating otherwise," the Prime Minister continued, with a nod at Alan Hunley.

Will glanced over at his boss. Hunley was trying to keep up a good front, but the confirmation that the Syndicate was _real_ , that Ethan hadn't been chasing ghosts, and that his witch hunt for Ethan was all for nothing…his boss had gone slightly paler. _Take that, you sonofabitch_ , Will thought smugly. He wished Benji was in the room to see Hunley's face.

* * *

Clint grinned as Hunley went a shade lighter than pale inside the room. Atlee was busy trying to redirect the Prime Minister back to the attempt on his life. But his brother wasn't having it.

" _Does the name Solomon Lane ring a bell_?" Will asked, cutting into Atlee's protest.

" _Yes. Unfortunately, it does_ ," the Prime Minister confirmed.

" _So…there actually_ is _a Syndicate_?"

Clint laughed out loud at the disbelief in Hunley's voice. "For someone who deals in intelligence, man, you suck at your job," he announced, knowing his brother and the IMF team were the only ones who could hear him. He thought he heard Luther utter a whispered " _Amen_ ," from an empty room on the grounds.

* * *

"It was the hypothetical brain child of Chief Atlee," the Prime Minister was saying. "Recruit former agents from other countries, supply them with a new identity…and use them to surgically remove our enemies both at home and abroad. It's operating budget was to be hidden offshore in a virtual red box which I alone would control." His voice was rising. Will could tell the leader of Great Britain was having a hard time keeping his composure in check. "It would have made me judge, jury, and executioner with zero accountability."

He looked at Hunley and Will. "I _rejected_ the proposal unequivocally. Furthermore, I was given every assurance it had never passed the planning stage!"

"Prime Minister!" Atlee spoke up sharply. "There _is_ no Syndicate! These men have been duped by Agents Hunt and Faust-"

" _Atlee_." The Prime Minister's tone cut the chief of MI6 off at the pass. " _Save_ it for public inquiry," he hissed at him. He got up from his chair, heading for the doors.

 _Oof, he's pissed._ "Sir," Will spoke up, "I urge you not to leave this room," he warned. He wanted to ask his brother where in the hell Ethan was. They'd just gotten a full-blown confession from Atlee; surely Ethan would've wanted to be there for that…

"Prime Minister." Atlee's voice interrupted his thoughts. Will looked at the bespectacled man.

 _Unless_ …

Without warning, Atlee pulled a pistol from his pocket, and fired point-blank at the Prime Minister's chest.

Instinctively, Will reached for his ankle holster.

" _Will!_ " his brother's voice barked in his ear. " _Don't move."_


	11. Chapter 11

Will blinked at the command in his ear. " _What?_ " he hissed, out loud. Hunley looked at Will in confusion even as he moved to catch the faltering Prime Minister.

It was then that he noticed the red tranquilizer dart, a spurt of red against the Prime Minister's otherwise black and white tuxedo. _What…the…_

He looked back at Atlee, who was no longer Atlee. Ethan Hunt finished pulling off his mask, tossed away the voice modulator, and stood before them, pistol still trained on Hunley and the Prime Minister. "Sir," he told Alan Hunley, in their first exchange _ever_ , "please step away from the Prime Minister."

" _Surprise_ ," Clint announced idly from his perch outside. " _Sorry to keep you in the dark, but we needed a genuine reaction out of you. I'll have Tony make you an Oscar statue."_

"I'm going to kill you all," Will announced under his breath. He saw the corner of Ethan's mouth turn up in a quick smile, then, his team leader reached into his jacket and tossed Will a zippered pouch. Will frowned, recognizing it. He looked at Ethan in confusion. Ethan nodded to the Prime Minister, his gun still trained on Hunley.

_I don't believe this._ Will unzipped the pouch and knelt down beside the Prime Minister, who was muttering incoherently. Will plucked the dart from his jacket.

"Atlee… _shot_ me…" the Prime Minister whispered in a daze.

"Ah, yes, yes he did," Will confirmed.

"Hunt, I hope you realize you've set back UK-US relations to the Revolutionary War," Hunley ground out.

Ethan shrugged. "Desperate times," he said.

" _I wanna be in the room where it happens,"_ Clint sang under his breath.

" _Hamilton_ , really?" Will whispered under his breath.

" _Hey, don't be jealous just 'cause Tony scored me tickets,"_ Clint teased. He glanced down into the courtyard, where a vehicle had just pulled in. A black SUV. The driver's side door opened and a familiar face got out. " _Look alive, boys. The_ real _Atlee just rolled up!"_

"Stand by to receive," Ethan told Luther into the comm.

Will popped the cover off the portable retinal scanner and held it up to the Prime Minister's eye. The older man could hardly focus; Will had to hold his head steady long enough for the scanner to get a good read on his eye. Then, Will flicked on the iPad and set the Prime Minister's hand on it, pressing down to get a good bioscan.

"You have a very…warm…hand," the older man mumbled.

Will's face flushed as his brother burst out laughing in his ear.

Even Luther was snickering a little as he said, " _Bioscan confirmed. There's a prompt…Kipling_."

Clint followed the real Atlee through the floor-to-ceiling windows. " _He's headed your way, guys_ , _hurry the hell up…_ "

"Sir, I'm gonna need a passphrase. The prompt is Kipling." Will held Ethan's cell phone up to Atlee's mouth. "This better be coherent, or it isn't gonna work," he warned Ethan.

Apparently, the Prime Minister was an aficionado, because the quote he started speaking was clear as day, despite the tranquilizer running through his system. "You get that?" Will asked Luther.

There was a pause. Then, " _I got it_!" Luther announced. " _Oh….yeah, I've definitely got it_."

" _Atlee's at the door!"_

Will stood up quickly as the doors flew open and the _real_ Chief Atlee stormed in. The head of MI6 took one glance around the room, taking everything in. "Security!" he barked. The two men Ethan had duped into standing in the hall followed him in, guns drawn. Before the situation could escalate, red feathered darts sprouted from their chests.

Ethan stepped away from the open window.

" _Bullseye_ ," Clint announced proudly from his perch on the roof across the courtyard.

"Chief Atlee," Ethan spoke up. The wide-eyed, bespectacled man turned to face the IMF agent. "Kind of you to accept our invitation."

Another sprout of red appeared just over Atlee's collarbone. " _I think my work here is done,_ " Clint grinned from outside as Atlee faltered. " _I'll be downstairs if anybody needs me, keepin' the car warm."_

Atlee dropped to the floor, Ethan standing over him.

"We know you created the Syndicate, but Lane went rogue and turned it against you, didn't he? And you've been desperately trying to cover it up. That's why you erased the disk when Ilsa brought it you," Ethan said. He was saying it more for Alan Hunley's benefit than anyone else.

"That's….true," Atlee whispered.

"Now, Director Hunley has some questions for you," Ethan began, looking over at Hunley, who was slowly looking less like a deer in headlights. "Namely, about Ilsa Faust and how you framed her." He handed Hunley a small vial. "Antidote," he said.

For the first time since Will had met the man, Alan Hunley was speechless. Will was enjoying it. He bent down next to Atlee. "When the Prime Minister found out about the Syndicate, Chief Atlee attacked him," he said. He looked up at Hunley. "But you saved him."

"Did he?" The question came from a semi-alert Prime Minister, whom Will had almost forgotten was in the room. "In that case…I'm very grateful."

Hunley looked around the room, still slightly slackjawed. His gaze roamed from the Prime Minister, who was slowly sitting up in his chair, to Atlee on the floor, half-conscious, to Ethan and Will. Will could see the pieces finally coming together. Hunley's eyes landed on Ethan, who handed him the tranquilizer gun. "Sir," Ethan acknowledged.

" _I hate to break up what I'm sure is a riveting moment,"_ Clint spoke up in their earpieces, " _but clock's tickin' guys. Benji's waiting, and it's almost midnight."_

Ethan led the way out of the room, Will on his heels. When he passed Alan Hunley, he couldn't resist the "I told you so" grin that passed over his face.

* * *

The smile vanished the moment the two of them crossed the threshold, and Will was all business again. "We're coming, Clint. Let's go get Benji back."

The black Jaguar Ethan (as the Prime Minister) had procured for the mission was waiting when the two of them came out of the building; Clint behind the wheel and Luther in the passenger seat. Ethan was punching in a number on his phone as Clint threw the sportscar in drive. "I have what you want," Ethan said, loud and clear to Solomon Lane over the purr of the engine. "Where do I go?"

"We got a plan?" Clint looked at his brother in the rearview mirror as he drove out onto the highway, pushing the car as fast as he could back toward London. He glanced at the dashboard clock- 11:30. He pressed a little harder on the gas.

"Yeah." The confirmation came from Ethan, who snapped his phone shut and leaned forward between the seats. "Here's what we're going to do."

As he finished explaining his plan, Clint looked at his brother. "Are all your plans this bat-shit crazy?" he asked his brother in Arabic.

"No," Will replied in kind. He couldn't help but grin. "They're usually worse."

Ethan's eyes were on the laptop balancing on his knees as he replied distractedly, "I heard that."


	12. Chapter 12

Will rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt as he stabilized the glass panel Luther was furiously screwing into place. On the other side of the glass, his brother appeared, dressed in the purple and black uniform vest of Hawkeye.

He raised an eyebrow. "Conspicuous, much?"

Clint shrugged. "Nobody's going to see me, anyway," he countered, and Will chuckled in agreement. Clint stepped around the glass and Will let go. The panel stayed standing, so Will grabbed his brother's arm and pulled him away so Luther could finish working.

"So, you're good with the plan?" Will asked for what he felt like was the eighteenth time.

Clint nodded. "Don't worry, Will, I've got Ethan's back." He clapped his brother on the shoulder. "We'll bring Benji back." He looked at his watch. "I gotta go-I've got a little bit of a climb."

"Be careful."

Clint grinned. "You sound like Mom," he replied. Then, more seriously, "You too."

Clint took off at a full-out sprint toward the blue-and-purple lights of Tower Bridge. The bridge spanned the River Thames in the shadow of the famed Tower of London. Clint hit the bridge at a run, pulled an arrow from his quiver and fired, swinging himself just over a passing car before the headlights hit him. He climbed, perching on one of the windowed ledges, giving him an unobstructed view of the Tower of London and the sidewalk café at its' base.

"In position," he radioed Ethan. "Go." He checked his watch again.

11:55.

Clint took a deep breath and settled in, an arrow nocked and ready. He watched through his scope as Ethan threaded his way through the crowded promenade and parked himself at a table for four that was currently occupied by Benji and Ilsa.

"Will, we've got them," he whispered to his brother.

* * *

A few blocks away, Will shivered. _Please let Benji be okay_ , he though to himself, to whoever was listening. He wiped down his palmprints on the glass wall Luther had just finished, and helped him move on to the next.

Luther glanced up from the power drill. "He'll be fine," Luther reassured him.

Will nodded. It was the first, well, the first _nice_ thing Luther had probably ever said to him. He let out the breath he was holding and pushed the wall against the sides.

* * *

Clint surveyed the area as Ethan negotiated with Lane. It was 11:57. Clint could see at _least_ four guys that he would mark as hostiles, all converging toward the table.

He forced himself to listen to the conversation. "Human nature," Benji was saying. The robotic nature of his voice was eerie to Clint from the Ironman fanboy tech guru he was used to. Clint had spotted the earpiece in his ear, knew Lane was feeding him lines. Still, he shivered atop the ledge. "My weapon of choice," Benji-as-Lane was saying. "From the moment I killed the young lady in the record shop, I knew you would stop at nothing to catch me. I also knew Ilsa wouldn't have a choice. Whether she broke you the night you met, or let you go, whether you let her run in Morrocoo, whether she went to Atlee or not."

"You were certain we'd end up where we are," Ethan finished. He leaned back, almost casually. "But then again, so was I."

Clint spotted another heavy entering the area. "No sign of Lane," he reported. "He can't be far with that earpiece, though. There's a couple hotel rooms nearby…" He swung the scope as Ethan kept talking, his eyes searching for open windows with a vantage point of the Tower of London.

"…I'm going to put you in a box," Ethan hissed.

"Where's the disc?" Lane demanded through Benji.

"Nothing yet," Clint said. "Still looking…." He swung back toward the promenade, eyes scanning the crowd. He saw Benji shift in his seat, caught a flash of… _Oh hell._

* * *

"Anything, Clint?" Will asked as he tightened a ring on the hose feeding into the glass panel.

" _Yeah…"_ Clint replied. " _Hey, don't um, don't freak out but…Benji's wired."_

Will almost dropped the hose. "I'm _sorry_ ," he hissed. "Can you say that _again_?"

* * *

Clint focused in on Benji. The younger man shifted in his chair, his button down shirt sliding just enough to reveal the ticking red numbers of a bomb vest. "Never mind," he said hastily. "Keep working." _I'm going to put my entire quiver in this bastard when we find him_ , he thought to himself.

"50 million dollars to let Benji go," Ethan negotiated with Lane.

Clint checked his watch. 11:59. "This better work," he said aloud.

"Where's the disk? You're _looking_ at it," Ethan leaned across the table into Benji's space. Clint grimaced at the look of panic on Benji's face. _Hang on, man, we got you._ "I _am_ the disk. I memorized it," Ethan told Lane, "all 2.4 billion numbered accounts. If that vest goes off, you get _nothing._ Without me, you're _nothing_ ," Ethan baited Lane. "Right now, you're thinking, it's a bluff. I wouldn't let my friends blow up. I couldn't possibly have memorized the entire disk." Ethan leaned back, smug. "There's only one way to be sure."

He leaned in close to Benji again. Clint's second hand was on the 9, ticking slowly toward 12. Ethan spoke, his tone deadly. "Let. Benji. Go."

Benji's hands dug into the tops of his legs. Clint was calculating, wondering if he could hit the kill switch with an arrow from that distance. If that thing went up in….shit, 10 seconds…Clint's job would be minimal loss, not a rescue.

3….2….1…

Clint loosened his grip on the recurve as midnight hit and nothing happened. He closed his eyes. _Thank God_. Then, he tightened his grip again as Lane's men inched closer. Ilsa Faust pulled Ethan to her side, a gun barrel in his ribs. "They come one step closer, shoot me." Clint didn't know if Ethan was talking to him or Ilsa.

Benji's voice broke the tension. "You remember me telling you one day you were gonna take things too far? This is _me_ speaking, by the way, it's not him!" His voice rose on the last sentence.

"Will, Benj is fine," Clint informed his brother, laughing despite the situation. "Get ready, things are about to come your way."

"You and me, Lane, face to face," Ethan was saying. "You want your money? Let Benji go." Clint sighted in on the man Luther had told him was the Bone Doctor, wondering if he could get them all before one of them got a shot off.

And then, Benji was ripping off the vest, tossing it to the ground, Ethan was jumping up from his seat, and Clint didn't think. He fired, sending an arrow toward Janik Vitner's chest. Except the man dodged at the last second, and the arrow planted itself in the purse of a woman at a nearby table. She screamed, and all hell broke loose.

 _Damn it_! "I lost contact!" Clint yelled. "Will, Ethan and Ilsa are running your way. I'm going to grab Benji, we'll rendezvous with you guys in a few minutes. I hope to _hell_ you're ready down there."

* * *

Will looked at Luther. "Are we?"

Luther shook his head, and Will shook his head. "We will be," he told his brother.

* * *

Clint used a grappling arrow and swung himself down onto the bridge, running at full tilt toward the café. Several people stopped and stared, but he ignored them. _If SHIELD wants to come find me, they can get on the next American Airlines flight_ , he thought. All he cared about was getting to Benji. He hopped the railing and stumbled down a rocky support, vaulted a fence, and went running into the crowd. He spotted a red shirt, and hauled Benji to his feet. "You okay?" he demanded.

Benji reached into his eye and yanked out a contact lens, crushing it to pieces under his sneaker. "Well, I'm still in one piece," he choked out.

Clint wrapped the younger man in a hug. "That's from Will," he told him. "Come on, let's go get Lane."

Benji's face turned to steel. "I'd like nothing more," he said. Clint grinned, and then they were running again.

* * *

"Ethan, we're ready!" Will said into the comm., not even sure if their team leader could hear them or not. He and Luther stepped back into the darkness of the loading dock. Will's palms were sweating. His fingers clenched into a fist as they waited in the pitch black for Ethan and Lane to show.

 _Benji's fine_ , he reminded himself. His heart pounded in his chest. _Benji is fine and Clint is on his way, and maybe, just maybe, this will all be_ over _._

He heard pounding footsteps above him, then, Ethan Hunt crashed to the floor less than a foot from Will's shoes. Will remained frozen in place, eyes locked on the maintenance shaft that was cut into the floor above them. He held his breath as Ethan rolled on the ground, obviously in pain.

A moment later, Solomon Lane dropped through the maintenance hatch and Will moved, slamming the glass front of the cube he and Luther had built closed and locking it into place. Lane reacted, pulling a gun and firing in Will's direction, but the shot was stopped by the bulletproof glass. Luther had done his homework. Lane fired into the other side, his shot embedding into the glass directly between Luther's eyes.

The rogue agent of the Syndicate turned to face Ethan, who was being helped to his feet by Benji. Not to be outdone, his brother Clint dropped onto the ceiling of the box, cementing it shut. He tapped on the glass like a fishtank with a smirk.

Ethan stepped up to the glass, Ilsa Faust right behind him. "Everyone," he spoke aloud, "meet Solomon Lane."

"We've met," Benji whispered softly next to Will, and Will squeezed his arm in support.

"Mr. Lane," Ethan continued, gesturing around. "Meet the IMF." He nodded to Benji. "Do the honors?"

Will let go of Benji's arm as his friend reached down, opening the nozzle on the anesthetic gas tank. The interior of the box started to cloud. Lane fired two shots into the glass, eye level with Ethan, but the glass held, and Will watched in satisfaction as Lane dropped to the ground, unconscious.

Benji shut the gas off and stepped out of the way as Ethan tipped the box, knocking it onto the loading platform. Then, Benji threw his arms around Will, catching him off guard. Will staggered. "Hey," he breathed. "Nice to see you too." He let go, holding Benji at arm's length. "Benji, I'm sorry-"

"Yeah," Benji cut in. "Me too."

The two grinned, and Clint nodded. Before he could make a snide remark about the two of them getting a room, his phone pinged. He pulled it out. _Tasha_. With everything happening, he'd almost forgotten the mess he'd left back in the States.

 _Clint. Get home NOW_.

Will caught the look of panic that crossed Clint's face. Instinctively, he tossed Clint the keys to the Jaguar. "Let's go. They've got this."

Clint didn't say anything, climbing into the car. As he floored it and the two brothers went screaming out onto the streets of London, he dialed his partner's number. _Come on, Tash….pick up_.

He got her voicemail.


	13. Chapter 13

_Washington….8 Hours Later_

Will didn't feel sorry at all for taking the IMF jet. Hunley still owed him a few, even if the guy was on their side now. Clint put the plane down at Dulles and Will flashed his CIA badge, earning them a 'no questions asked' policy from the TSA guys on the ground. Then, they were in a rental, and the two of them went blazing through the streets of Washington, DC. Clint did his best to keep it at speed limit, remembering the attack on Nick Fury just days earlier, and not wanting to draw attention to himself.

Will, meanwhile, had tried calling Natasha, using her number in Clint's phone. He'd also tried the number Clint had listed under 'Cap' but Steve Rogers wasn't answering, either.

Clint's knuckles were white, gripping the steering wheel at ten and two so hard Will was afraid he'd pull it out of the housing. He wanted to reassure his brother, tell him that Natasha and Steve were fine but, if everything his brother had been telling him was true…Will wasn't sure.

Ahead of them, on the banks of the Potomac, the Triskelion loomed. Clint pulled into the underground parking garage and into an empty space, bypassing the kid at the gate.

"M-Mr. Barton," the kid stammered as he followed them back. Clint and Will were out of the car, Clint's bow in his hand. "I-we weren't aware-"

Will fired his IMF-issue tranquilizer gun, catching the kid at point-blank range in the chest. The kid dropped without incident.

"I'm sure you weren't," Clint said dryly. "Elevator's this way. Let's go." He took off at a run, Will on his heels. The two of them climbed in and Clint hit the number for operations. If anybody knew what was going on, it would be them.

" _This is Steve Rogers."_

Clint froze and Will jumped, looking around. He spotted the speaker in the elevator ceiling and looked at Clint.

"Thank God," Clint whispered. _Now if I knew the same about Tasha…_

" _You've heard a lot about me the past couple days,"_ Steve's voice was short and matter-of-fact. _"Some of you were even tasked to hunt me down."_

Clint's fingers tightened on his bow. "Yeah, I owe Pierce for that," he muttered darkly.

" _SHIELD is not what we thought it was. It's been taken over by HYDRA. Alexander Pierce is their leader."_

"You were right," Will whispered. "Tasha was right."

"Doesn't make me feel better," Clint said grimly.

_The STRIKE and Insight group is HYDRA as well._

Clint remembered Brock Rumlow at the hospital. It was, unfortunately, all making sense now. He wondered how many others he worked with had secretly been plotting against SHIELD this whole time. He wondered about the guys on the helicarrier. Guys like Ryan Lind. Was the kid who had been so starstruck by him a HYDRA agent too?

He couldn't help it. He slid to the floor of the elevator, head in his hands. After a moment, Will joined him. His brother, to his credit, didn't say anything, and Clint was grateful. His whole world was going to hell. There was no 'but thank goodness for small favors' here.

" _We don't know how many more. I know they're in the building. They could be standing right next to you. They almost have what they want. Absolutely control. They shot Nick Fury. It won't end there. If you launch those helicarriers today, HYDRA will be able to kill anyone who stands in their way. Unless we stop them."_

"INSIGHT." Clint spoke the word out loud into his hands. "They're launching INSIGHT today."

"What's Insight?" Will asked him.

"Just what Cap said. Three helicarriers. Arc reactor powered. They can stay up forever. Hunt down whoever HYDRA wants." Clint closed his eyes and leaned his head against the elevator wall. The doors had dinged long ago, but Will had hit the stop button, freezing them in place. "Shit." He pounded his head against the wall lightly. "Steve's right. We gotta do something."

"What about…the other Avengers?" Will's mind was working the angles. "Where are they?"

Clint stood up. "Nobody's heard from Tony. Thor, last we saw, he was back on Asgard with Loki. Bruce…I dunno. I wouldn't dream of unleashing the big green guy on this. He doesn't know who's who."

"Nobody's asking you to fight this fight, little brother."

Will pointed a finger up at the speaker. "Uh, pretty sure Captain America just did." He smiled, pulling his pistol from the ankle holster that was always present. "You saved my team," he reminded Clint. "Now I'm gonna help you with yours."

Clint grinned at his little brother. "You're sure about this?"

Will shrugged. "Power hungry maniac, covert operations team, world-destroying tech? No plan? Sounds like your typical IMF mission."

Clint rolled his eyes, took a breath, and hit the door open button. The doors slid back, and Clint strode out onto the catwalk above Operations to complete and utter chaos. "Get down!" he yelled at Will, and his brother dove to the floor as a stray bullet embedded itself into the back of the elevator. Clint couldn't tell who was firing at who, or who was on which side. The glass railing shattered near his knees and he scrambled back into the elevator. "Holy _shit_ ," he breathed.

"What are we gonna do?" Will yelled above the noise of shattering glass, screams, and gunshots.

"We have to-" A guy in STRIKE tactical gear came running at them, and Clint buried an arrow in his neck. "God _damn_ it!" He crawled forward, looking down over Ops. He spotted a familiar haircut. Brock Rumlow was there, pounding furiously on a keyboard. Clint grabbed an arrow, nocked it, and was about to fire when another bullet blew past his ear. He felt the breeze. By the time he got back into position, his worst nightmare was coming true.

Bright red letters, in all caps on the screen.

OVERRIDE.

He swore, in every language he knew how to swear in. He ran back for the elevator, hit the doors, and pressed the button going down. "They launched it," he gasped.

" _What?"_ Will choked out.

"INSIGHT. Rumlow, he did a manual override. The carriers, they're launching."

"What do we do?"

Clint pulled his brother to his feet. " _You_ are going to go help Steve. _I_ have a meeting with Alexander Pierce."

The elevator doors dinged and Will stepped out onto the hangar bay floor. "Controls are there-" Clint pointed to a glass booth almost a football field away. "-shut 'em down."

"Do I _look_ like Benji to you?!" Will yelped.

"Shoot the damn panel if you have to. Take out anybody in tac gear. We have to get those carriers back on the ground, _now_."

The elevator door closed, and Will glanced around. Gunshots reverberated off the concrete floor. "Whatever you say, Clint," he groaned, and then he was running.

* * *

Clint, meanwhile, was headed _up_. Alexander Pierce's office was on the top floor of the building- _no surprise_ , Clint thought to himself. _He would want to lord over his project._

The elevator stopped. "Authorization?" the computer chirped at him. Clint mentally berated himself. Of course. Pierce's office, like Fury's was on a voice activation system. Clint hit the panel in frustration, then hit the button for the floor below. The doors opened and he took off at a run, the quiver on his back whirring as he keyed in for the arrowhead he wanted, yanked it out, and fired at the window. The glass shattered from the sonic pulse, and he was already nocking the grappling hook. He leaned out the window, aiming straight up for the ledge of Pierce's office.

He chanced a look down. The waters of the Potomac were bubbling, disappearing into the hangar bay. _Cap…I hope you're on it._ He looked back up, fired the arrow, and scrambled up the rope to the ledge. Another sonic pulse and the window exploded as Clint climbed in, somersaulting forward over the glass, wincing as some dug into his unprotected upper arms and neck. He came up next to two guys in STRIKE gear, taking one out at the ankles and an elbow to the face, the other with a judo flip and a right cross.

He stood up.

Natasha Romanoff was staring at him. "Hey, partner," she said calmly. Her gun was trained on Alexander Pierce.

Clint eyed her blue business suit and heels. "Nice outfit," he joked, trying not to let the relief he felt into his voice. _She's okay._

She nodded to the glass in his hair. "Nice hair. You mind watching him for a second?" She gestured to Pierce.

Clint pulled out an arrow, pulled the string back, putting it directly between Pierce's eyes. He glanced around, realizing for the first time that a few members of the World Council were also in the room, staring at him in disbelief. "Gentlemen," he greeted them.

Natasha went over to Pierce's workstation and went to work.

"What is she doing?" one of them asked Clint.

"No idea…oh." Clint's eyes widened as his eagle eyes caught some of what was on the screen. Before he could answer, though, Pierce spoke. Oddly calm, considering.

"She's overriding the security protocols. Dumping all of the secrets onto the Internet."

"Including HYDRA's," Natasha told Pierce, never looking up from the screen.

"And SHIELD's," Pierce reminded her. "If you do this, none of your pasts-" he looked at Natasha, then a sidelong glance at Clint- "-will remain hidden."

Natasha hesitated, for just a second, and she glanced up at Clint. Clint knew his face had gone just a split shade paler. "Are you sure you're ready for the world to see you?" Pierce asked the two of them.

Clint locked eyes with his partner. A nonverbal _trust me_ , from Natasha. Then, she was typing again.

"Are _you_?" Natasha countered to Pierce.

"Disabling the encryption takes two Alpha-level members," Pierce informed Natasha.

Natasha shrugged. "Don't worry," she said, nodding to the broken window. "Company's coming."

Clint allowed Pierce to walk, knowing there was nowhere for him to go, toward the open window, where a helicopter was touching down on the landing pad. Clint's jaw dropped. "Full of surprises today," he said to Natasha. She gave him a nod.

A very _alive_ Nick Fury stepped into the room. His one eye threw daggers at Alexander Pierce.

Pierce seemed unfazed by the arrival of his subordinate. "Did you get my flowers?" he asked. "I'm glad you're here."

"Really." Fury dwarfed Pierce by a good three or four inches. He nodded to Clint, but Clint didn't withdraw the arrow he had pointed at the back of Pierce's neck. "I was under the impression you had me killed," Fury said to Pierce.

Clint glanced back at Natasha. "This is why we don't do game night," he teased. "You know _everything_."

"I'd be great on a trivia team," Natasha disagreed.

"Good point," Clint acknowledged.

Their banter was interrupted by Pierce. "I can bring _order_ to seven billion people, by sacrificing….20 million." He looked at Fury. "It's the next step…if you're brave enough to take it."

"No," Fury told him, grabbing him by the arm. "I'm brave enough _not_ to." He hauled Pierce to the retinal scanner, Clint on their heels, his arrow still aimed at Pierce.

"Alpha-level override," the computer announced, as the retinal scanner confirmed both Pierce and Fury's identities. "Encryption disabled."

* * *

Down in the hangar bay, Will was fighting his way toward the controls. A guy in tactical gear took a swing at him; Will used a move he'd learned from his brother, grabbing the guy's arm as it swung past him, wrenched it behind his back, kicked his legs out from under him, and dropped him face-first to the floor. He heard a satisfying crunch as the guy's nose met the concrete, and he slammed his head into the ground once just to make sure. Then, he was off and running again.

Something crashed to the floor in front of him, a guy tangled in a white parachute. It looked so alien in the gray and black hangar bay. Will drew his gun, aiming it at him.

The man slowly got to his feet, breathing heavily. "Don't shoot," he said.

"Whose side are you on?" Will demanded.

The guy eyed him. "Whose side are _you_ on?" he countered.

"Not HYDRA," Will replied.

"Yeah, a'ight, but how do I know for sure?"

Will opened his mouth to say something. Just then, a guy in STRIKE gear came running at them. Will fired, hitting one in the arm. As the guy spun around from the momentum, the guy who had just dropped from the sky planted a foot in his back, sending him crashing into a pile of equipment. He looked back at Will.

"Will Brandt," Will introduced himself. He offered a hand.

The guy took it. "Sam Wilson."

"You wanna give me a hand, Sam Wilson?" Will asked. "I'm tryin' to get those carriers down."

Sam grinned. "Hell, yes."

* * *

The tension in the room was thick. Clint had one eye on his partner, the other on Alexander Pierce. Nobody spoke as the status bar reached 100%. _Everything's out there now,_ Clint thought. _Everything SHIELD's ever done…all our missions…_

"Done." Natasha said with finality.

White light, in Clint's peripheral. Clint whirled to see the three members of the World Council screaming in agony, clutching their chests. It was then Clint saw the lapel pins…then the burning holes in their suits…then saw them go still.

"What the _hell_?" he blurted out, turning back to Pierce.

His eyes caught something.

That same pin.

On Natasha's jacket.

"Unless you want a two-inch hole burned into your chest," Pierce's tone was stone cold. "I suggest you put your guns- and that arrow-down."


	14. Chapter 14

Will and Sam Wilson fought their way across the hangar bay. A stray shot winged over Will's head, catching a Quinjet next to him. He ducked. "How many of these guys are there?" he breathed.

"Always too damn many," Sam replied. Red warning lights illuminated the hangar bay and warning sirens went off around them, making it almost impossible to hear in the cavernous space. "What the hell is that, now?"

"Generally in my experience...not good," Will said. "I don't suppose you've seen a guy with a big red, white and blue shield running around have you?"

"Steve?" Sam asked, and Will nodded, surprised that Sam knew who he was talking about. "He's up there-" Sam pointed through the open roof. "We were trying to install chips to bring down the weapons systems," he explained.

"How'd you-" A shot pinged off their location and Will and Sam both dove for cover behind the landing gear. "-end up down here?" Will asked.

"I vote we talk later," Sam suggested. "If Cap can't get the targeting relays down, we'll have to. I think those two guys in there are the button pushers. If we can get to them…"

"Nobody to push the button," Will finished. "Works for me. You want me to lay down some cover fire?"

"What, and send me out to get shot?" Sam raised an eyebrow under his red-tinted goggles.

Will shrugged. "Hey, it was your idea."

Before either of them could make a move, the warning sirens stopped. The two men stared at each other in stunned silence. "The hell?" Sam asked.

The ground shook, and the two men scrambled out from under the jet to look up. Through the rectangle of sky, all they could see was smoke, fire, and raining debris…

"We should move," Will gaped.

"Yup!" Sam yelled, pushing him forward as they ran for cover.

* * *

Clint's fingers twitched as he tracked Pierce across the room. The head of SHIELD- _no, HYDRA_ , Clint reminded himself-seemed impassive as he watched Project INSIGHT explode before his eyes.

"What a waste," Pierce said flatly. One hand on Natasha's pistol, the other on his phone, the app controlling the detonation of Natash'a pin blinking on the screen, Pierce grabbed Natasha by the arm. "Let's go, Councilwoman," he told her. "You're going to fly me out of here."

"Like hell," Clint growled. He took a step forward, but Pierce shook his phone at him and he froze.

"Not even you're that quick, _Hawkeye_ ," Pierce countered.

"Wanna test that theory?" Clint hissed. Has his partner not given a slight shake of her head, he might have actually taken the shot. It wouldn't have been the first time.

"You know, there was a time I would've taken a bullet for you," Fury said to Pierce.

Pierce shrugged. "You already did," he reminded him, pulling Natasha with him toward the door.

Suddenly, Natasha stiffened. Her whole body went rigid, and Clint saw a spark near her collarbone. "Tash-" he started, dropping his bow as his partner dropped to the floor, unconscious. He looked quickly at Pierce, who was hurriedly tapping on his phone.

Fury fired two shots in quick succession, hitting Pierce center mass and driving him through the plate glass windows of the office. Then, he was crouched next to Clint. Clint was shaking his partner, feeling for a pulse.

"Natasha?" Clint barked. "What the _hell_ was that?" he demanded of Fury.

"Shorted out the pin," Fury said. "Smaller version of the Widow's Bites she usually wears."

"That better be all." Clint bent down over his partner. "Tasha! I flew halfway around the world this morning and this would be a lousy damn way to end my day!" Clint pleaded with her. "Wake up!"

"Don't do this, Romanoff," Fury ordered her.

Slowly, Natasha opened her eyes. She glanced at Fury, then to Clint., grimacing.

"Ow," she groaned.

Clint laughed. "Walk it off, Romanoff," he teased her. His partner whispered something his direction in Russian.

"What'd she say?" Fury asked as the two of them helped lift her to her feet.

Clint coughed. "You don't want to know," he promised. He looked up at Fury. "Any word from Cap?"

Fury shook his head and Clint frowned, eyes flickering to the chaos outside. _Everything's going to hell…we can't lose Captain America._ "We should go find him."

"Go," Fury told him. "I'll hold down the fort." He glanced at Pierce's body, the broken window, and the smoke and flames smoldering in the Potomac. "What's left of it."

* * *

**Capitol Hill  
Two days later…**

"You guys hear the Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian got robbed?" Clint asked his brother and Tasha a few days later. "Cap's suit is missing off the mannequin."

" _It's probably on the not-so-missing Captain America_ ," Will grinned. "Is he gonna put in an appearance today?"

" _Nope. Fury talked him into recovering. I think he's with Sam."_

"He's not recovering. I bet you twenty he's on the trail of the Winter Soldier. We all know Cap doesn't do idle," Clint told them both. From his position on top of the US Capitol Visitor's Center, he saw his partner adjust her black blouse and nod. "Ready for this _?"_ Clint turned his attention to his partner.

" _Sure, why not. It'll be fun_ ," she murmured. She sighed. " _Remind me I said that later, okay?"_

"I'm sorry it's all come to this. Wish I could be in there with you," Clint told her seriously. "But unfortunately, there's already one of me in that building right now."

" _No, there's one of_ me," Will argued on the frequency. " _Unless that somehow got dumped onto the Internet too?"_

" _I kept that part under wraps. World's not ready for two of_ either _of you."_ Natasha said. " _Your secret's safe."_ She gave a two-fingered wave out the window before heading into the committee chambers.

" _So I'll catch you after? Dad's offering to take us out to eat, since we're both in town again,"_ Will told his brother. He was leaning against the railing on the Capitol steps, sunglasses turned in Clint's general direction.

"Do we get to pick?"

" _We can flip for it."_ Will was quiet for a moment. " _Hey…about what Natasha said. We're….we're good, right? Our secret, I mean…nobody knows about our family?"_

"Just the people that matter," Clint replied quietly. "Go rip that committee a new one," he told his little brother. "I'll catch you later." He thumbed the end call button and stared toward the Capitol.

His phone rang, and he glanced down at the caller ID. He smiled. "Hey, beautiful. Yeah, I'm fine. I promise." He returned his gaze to the Capitol, watching his brother head inside with Alan Hunley. "He's fine too."

_For now._

**_Fin._ **


End file.
